


And So Beats A Gentle Heart

by 221bMoonunit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:11:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3754060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221bMoonunit/pseuds/221bMoonunit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is rescued in more ways than one...Warning: this story deals with small bits and the aftermath of torture. I do not go into too much detail about it but it's still very much there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I do not own any of Sherlock…Yeah, I’m sure you are real heartbroken over that fact…
> 
> Now, this story has Moriarty’s brother in it…In the original stories we know only a few things about him, because of one sentence in ‘The Final Problem’…His name is Colonel James Moriarty…So one, he’s a military man, two, his parents are lazy sods who gave their children the first same name and third, he defends the memory of his brother with a passion…so he loves his dear brother and would not take his brother’s death kindly…Perhaps he’d even blame Sherlock and focus all his vengeance onto him…So, anyway, in this story I will not be calling him James…Sorry, no, I will be calling him Moriarty’s brother many times because I find it amusing and plan to make some jokes in later parts about it…I have made him an older brother…For many love comparing Sherlock and Moriarty (the one we know and love) I thought it would be interesting to make him an older brother who has lived in his younger brother’s shadow…So, if in future parts I simply call this madman Moriarty, seeing that it is his last name…Please don’t be too confused…For I’m quite certain I’m confused enough for the both of us.

~*~And So Beats A Gentle Heart~*~

~*~PART 1~*~

_‘Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me, too, and at least throw a little light through the dense darkness with surrounds me?’_

 -The Speckled Band by Arthur Conan Doyle

_‘What is the meaning of it, Watson?’ Said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. ‘What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable’…_

                ~The Cardboard Box by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

“So, all the king’s men and all the king’s horses couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again! And worse yet, they completely contaminated the crime scene!”

Sherlock blinked at Molly’s words as she slowly smiled before she continued, her dark eyes seemed to be sparkling with some great mischievous delight that he would perhaps never quite understand. “I fear he may have been violently pushed. This has all the tell signs of a hate crime, quite possibly done by a heavy handed vegan.”

“Vegans simply don’t _eat_ eggs or milk products, they don’t necessarily _hate_ them…Actually, I doubt there was any hate involved…Really, Molly, why would they simply murder an egg, especially the legendary Humpty Dumpty? Highly doubtful that they would be his murderer…” Sherlock found himself arguing…

“Is murder ever simple?” Molly asked seriously, yet there still seemed to be that beautiful and charming sparkle within her dark eyes.

“Yes.” Sherlock stated without any hesitation. It was as if he knew this to be a hardcore fact that really shouldn’t be argued with.

“Well, what if Humpty Dumpty was really a bad, rotten egg? I mean, seriously, what do we know about his moral character?” Then surprisingly Molly’s next set of questions turned serious… “What if he had deadly information that could seriously hurt the ones you care about? What if the only way you could protect John and all that he holds dear was to shot the rotten egg right in the head?”

This time there was no sparkle in her eyes. Instead there was simply a quiet lovely acceptance in her kind eyes, as if they both knew the answer before them and she wasn’t bothered by what _he_ had done. None of it…

Sherlock swallowed hard feeling a bit awkward and he looked quickly away from her to the body upon her metal slab.

“Let’s talk about something else, yes? Like this body!” Sherlock ordered almost desperately in hopes to change the subject. “He was quite savagely strangled, yes?”

“Oh, goodness, no!” Molly exclaimed in complete surprise as she looked down at the body in question before stating calmly as if Sherlock should have realized the truth right away. “You know he’s not dead, he’s simply resting.”

The fully clothed body on the slab sighed deeply before saying in a very familiar voice, “When are you going to stop all this non-sense, brother mine?”

Sherlock completely ignored his brother, Mycroft.

“No, Molly, I’m pretty certain that he’s dead! Very dead, in fact! Let us see who is right by doing a pleasant little autopsy, hmm?” Sherlock said all this pleasantly and sweetly, all the while looking at his pathologist quite innocently. “I’ll even be thrilled to help!”

Mycroft slowly sat up with a heavy frown upon his face; his hard cold eyes confirmed that he was in no way finding any of this amusing.

“Really, Sherlock, you must stop being so bloody stupid!” Mycroft shot at him with every ounce of coldness that was within him to do so, yet oddly something…perhaps concern flickered briefly within his eyes. “Enough of this! You need to leave this mind palace of yours and escape!”

Sherlock froze before replying back coldly, “And just how am I to do that, oh Smart One? Hmm, tell me! I am…I am strapped to a sodding table and I have been badly beaten and…and…”

“Tortured.” Molly stated carefully and softly. There was now a deep sadness about her. “The bastard who kidnapped you…tortured you and now he is even slowly sadistically draining you of blood. “

“You really must stop making excuses and find a way to escape.” Mycroft said mildly as if asking how Sherlock’s day was going and not really giving a damn.

Sherlock inhaled deeply and in an attempt not to thrash and dismember his older brother…Though really if one thought about it, what did it matter? This was his mind palace after all…

“Go away, Mycroft, I’m dying and I’d like to spend what little time I have left here with Molly…”

“Right.” Mycroft replied as he glanced over at Sherlock’s petite and cute pathologist before asking scornfully, “Is that the only reason I’m here experiencing your creepy version of… _porn_?”

Sherlock blinked in complete confusion before he quickly denied. “Porn? What porn? I **_never_** keep porn here in my mind palace!”

“I will have you know that is a lie! I am stuck in this rubbish of a mind palace of yours and I have seen Irene Adler walking around here… ** _naked_**! Naked, Sherlock, naked!”

“Well…That’s how I met her, Mycroft!” Sherlock felt he needed to explain quickly, before his brother ran off and told mind palace Mummy or something…”I swear there is **_nothing_** sexual about it…and…and…I really haven’t seen her around here for a while now…I believe I just might have deleted her.”

“No, trust me brother, you have _not_ deleted her. In fact, I spent a lovely afternoon with the lady in question…Mostly, while you were being violently tortured…There is only so much one can do here when you are away…and sadly, I get lonely so it’s nice when I have her over to visit me…”

Eww…Perhaps he really should delete ‘the woman’…Seriously…His brother and her…Eww…

“Well, Mycroft, she’s not here now so your idea that what is going on is my version of porn is stupid!”

Mycroft studied him as if he was a complete idiot before he declared, “You have Dr. Hooper standing here in her morgue wearing only her lap coat with one lonely button that is about to pop open at any second because of a very weak thread!”

Sherlock looked at the button in question…That perfect round button didn’t look lonely at all, in fact it was probably quite happy! As soon as his annoying damn brother left that lovely button was going to leap off with great joy!

“Go. Away. Now.” Sherlock coldly and pointedly said.

“Well, just look at the poor girl!” Mycroft replied instead of leaving. He moved towards Molly with slow elegance all the while slipping off his expensive dark business jacket. “Your pathologist is standing here freezing simply because you think you are dying! What rubbish! Look how pointy her nipples are, it’s almost as if she’d smuggling two small round sweeties…Poor, dear!  Seriously, you should be thinking of ways to escape instead of treating her like some sex object! You are many things, brother mine, and one of those things I had been quite certain of was that you were a gentleman! How wrong I was, Mummy would be ever so ashamed of you right now!”

“Oh, piss off!” Sherlock snarled and his hands tightened into fists as he watched his brother carefully place his jacket upon his Molly’s shoulders. He didn’t know why but the thought of anything of his brother’s on her made him quite angry. With swift steps he was suddenly next to them…Roughly jerking off Mycroft’s jacket, Sherlock tossed it at him.

He quickly took off his beloved Belstaff and helped Molly into it. He even fastened it closed as he stepped back to study her…He couldn’t help but think that Molly looked a thousand times better in it than ‘the woman’ ever had…

Molly flushed beautifully for him. Looking so very real…

“There…Much better.” Sherlock whispered softly. His hands coming to fall gently upon her shoulders.

Molly gifted him a small smile, a loving, kind sparkle was shining in her brown eyes. 

“You are not going to get off on her while I’m standing right here, are you?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock slowly let go of Molly…

“Mycroft, seriously, I’m about to kill you.” Sherlock retorted with a slight edge to his voice.

“You can’t even **_delete_** me.” Mycroft taunted cruelly. “How many times over the years have you tried?”

“Just go away, damn you! Don’t you understand, ** _I’m dying!_**  I will soon be dead and all I want… _All I want_ is to spend what little time I have left with Molly, not you!” Right after Sherlock shouted these words so angrily at his brother…Molly surprised him.

She always seemed to surprise him…

Even though this was _his_ mind palace…A place that should be completely under his control...Molly, his pathologist, always knew how to surprise him…

For she had just slapped him brutally hard, right across his cheek…

He and his world froze as he stared at her with wide startled eyes…Molly’s eyes, normally so sweet and kind were filled with intense fury. Wow, her fury was something to behold!

“You stop saying that! You are **_not_** going to die! Do you understand me? **You. Are. Not. Going. To. Die.** Not today and _never_ under that twisted bastard’s hands! You, Sherlock Holmes are going to live. You have friends who bloody care about you…So you are damn well going to hold on! You hear me? You _will_ hold on! You will **_not_** hurt John…For you know he’s doing everything in his power to find you and help you. You will **_not_** let him become a failure in this! You will live! For your best friend…and you will bloody live for me as well!” Molly finished the last of her words softly as she studied him…Her eyes no longer filled with such savage heat…

A long silence filled the morgue. Even his brother was silent…Simply waiting. Both he and Molly waited. For what Sherlock was uncertain of…

Then…Even **_more_** silence filled his lovely and sometimes chaotic mind palace.

“Well?” Molly finally broke the long never-ending silence that to be honest had been starting to annoy him.

“Well, what?” Sherlock asked softly, truly wondering what she was asking him.

“Tell me…That you are going to live. I want…I _need_ …to hear **_you_** say the words to me…Please, Sherlock, say it…” Molly pleaded softly.

Sherlock took a deep breath before letting it go…

“I’m not going to die. I’m going to live.” He promised, making Molly smile at him. A good, honest smile…

Her small hand came up, not to slap him, no, but to caress his still red cheek. Gently. Tenderly. The sweetness of that touch was more profound than a thousand slaps.

“Good…” She whispered, sounding as if that word was being spoken with all of her heart.

Strangely, he wanted to take her into his arms…

Her touch soothed him, meticulously repaired his damaged soul…Even if she wasn’t real, the touch was real enough to bring him great comfort…It forced him to keep his promise, forced him to live.

Maybe…Just maybe…One day that touch would indeed be real. If he allowed it, of course. Did he truly want Molly’s sweet, gentle touch? Something deep within himself told him that he did. Yet, he wasn’t sure he’d ever allow it outside of his mind palace.

“Oh, how **_nice_**.” Mycroft stated ruining Sherlock’s tender moment with his Molly. Sherlock quickly shot him a hardened look of anger.

Mycroft responded with a thin tight lipped smile before continuing with some bite in his voice. “You are **_now_** going to live. Good for you, Sherlock! Now we will all continue to live in this crap of a stupid mind palace of yours. You have no idea how happy you have made me, brother mine…No idea!”

“Seriously, go away.” Sherlock told his brother once more.

“No… ** _You_** go away.” Mycroft responded right back. “It’s time to leave. Go back to the **_real_** world, Sherlock and when you do…You tell Moriarty’s older twisted arse of a brother to piss off and while you deal with all that non-sense…”

Mycroft abruptly stopped to suddenly turn towards Molly, holding out his elbow in an old-fashioned gentleman sort of way before speaking to her…His coldness seeming to be suddenly gone and he now actually made himself look kind and…well… ** _nice_** …An true illusion, one that annoyed Sherlock greatly for some odd reason…Especially, around his pathologist…

“Dr. Hooper, would you please do me the great honor of coming over to **_my_** mind palace?” Mycroft asked ever so pleasantly and politely…A true gentleman…It made Sherlock hate him even more…Especially, when he continued with… “It’s so much better and **_bigger_**! Much like with **_all_** things I have when compared to my brother’s…”

A dark, deep sound ripped itself from Sherlock’s throat as he lunged for his brother’s pale neck and just as his fingertips touched it…

He found himself out of his mind palace and back into true hellish torment…

Reality was simply a sea of pain…Yet worse than the pain was the feeling of helplessness.

The man before him wanted him to die slowly and painfully…Unlike the man’s younger and Sherlock was certain more brilliant brother who had died quite quick as well as by his own hand.

James Moriarty had actually welcomed death.

However, Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t welcome it at all. He refused to accept death for he had promised…

“Tell me…” A dark voice taunted menacingly. “Are you ready to die, Sherlock?”

With Sherlock’s one good eye, for his other one was badly swollen shut, never once left the other man’s face…He slowly spat out a mixture of his own blood and saliva and hoped like hell that some of it landed on the bastard.

“No.” Sherlock answered coldly before he continued he couldn’t seem to remove the raw physical pain he was in from his voice, “And, by the way, I honestly can’t believe that you would choose **_now_** to have a conversation…For really…I must say I’m so not in the mood…”

In the distance Sherlock thought he heard something…Something that gave him hope…Suddenly that gave him strength…He thought he heard John…and…Someone else equally important to him…He felt like a predator who was about to escape his cage and maim his tormentor…At that thought Sherlock gave the man a maddening smile…Before Sherlock decided to reply…

“But then what the hell! Let’s have a conversation! How about _you tell me_ , Humpty Dumpty, do you think your brother’s former people or even your own will be able to put you back together again?”

~*~End of Part 1~*~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish to thank everyone for reading and hopefully enjoying.I don’t completely understand why you are willing to read my stories but I’m so thankful that you do…Also, thank you so much for the reviews…It does keep me writing and working on the next parts so…yeah, everything I write is all your fault! I do hope you are ashamed of yourself! 
> 
> A little warning: there is some talk of blowjobs, we don’t see or read the act but I know some might feel…uncomfortable with the subject so I thought I’d give you a heads up!…It’s just to be amusing really and to set up a delightful scene with Molly and Sherlock later…Many of you know my weird methods by now, so do be prepared!

 

~*~And So Beats A Gentle Heart~*~

 

~*~PART 2~*~

 

_‘…The situation strikes me as so desperate that the most extreme measures are justified.’_

 

-The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

 

_In his eyes she eclipse and predominates the whole of her sex._

 

-A Scandal in Bohemia by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

 

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

 

(Sometime much earlier)

 

“Really, Dr. Hooper?” Mycroft Holmes asked her quite skeptically.

 

Molly lifted her chin, refusing to be mild and meek before such a cold, cynic and unblinking stare.

 

“What would be so wrong in checking out the cottage?” Molly demanded her heart filled with worry over his brother’s kidnapping…

 

“Other than it being an obvious waste of time?” Was Mycroft’s completely unwelcoming response.

 

“What if it’s not?” Molly asked with a terrifying anger inside her…She would _not_ hit Sherlock’s brother…Nope, she wouldn’t do it!

 

A small cold smile graced his lips as if to mocking those words, before answering in a chillingly polite way, “Dr. Hooper…You went out with Moriarty for a very short time, yes? I’m quite certain that what he said and did was so he could get close to Sherlock and play his childish yet deadly game with him. We both know that he only took you out on that lovely romantic picnic that you spoke of because of that game. Now he may have taken you out to the country side and then randomly pointed to some distance cottage saying it was a beloved place of childhood memories and that his brother now owned it…What I mean to say is this…Moriarty was a great liar and manipulator. One should never be foolish enough to have believed in _anything_ that man may have said.”

 

“Surly, the best lie has some element of truth to it, Mr. Holmes…And when he looked over and pointed out the cottage to me and reminisced about spending the holidays there with his brother…I don’t see how he had been lying! I know Jim…James…had deceived me greatly, I understand that…Hell, I have accepted that…But that moment…That one moment felt _real_ …Something was very real about that very moment. It was in that man’s eyes and his voice…Something that hadn’t been there at all while he had been playing his manipulating games. I honestly believe he was remembering something real and precious to him…So what if that cottage is also precious to his brother…What if, Moriarty’s brother is holding Sherlock there? Seeing how he blames him for James’ death maybe…Maybe…Seriously, why can’t you check it out?”

 

Mycroft sighed and for a split second something close to pity moved within his coldly intelligent eyes.

 

“There may have indeed been _something real_ in that blasted man’s eyes and tone but the truth of the manner still remains the same. James Moriarty was nothing more than a con artist, a master manipulator and a liar…”

 

“But he _was_ telling the truth about having a brother! So why not the cottage?!” Molly cut in desperate that this man, who was supposedly the British government actually **_do_** something other than argue with her!

 

“And tell me, Dr. Hooper, did the man who at the time you knew as Jim…say what his brother’s name was? Hmm?” Mycroft asked softly and almost…knowingly…creepy really.

 

Molly looked away before muttering, “James…He called his brother James…”

 

Mycroft took a deep breath before slowly releasing it before stating, “Yes…Well, we now know that Moriarty did indeed have a brother…an older one no less who tricked an entire nation with the lie that James Moriarty wasn’t really dead and he pulled off an even greater ‘rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated’moment than Sherlock had! All I know, Dr. Hooper, is that Moriarty’s brother now has **_my_** brother. I have damn fine people working for me that will find him. **_Hell,_** **_I’m working on it personally!_** Except **I will not** go hunting in some dark thick fog on some worthless prick’s lies that were told to you years ago!”

 

“But…Couldn’t you simply check?” Molly asked hopefully, not wanting to let this go…For Sherlock she’d act like a starving dog upon a bone. “I can show you the exact place! I remember, really I do!”

 

“No.”

 

“Please?” Molly honestly thought saying the magic word couldn’t hurt...

 

Mycroft blinked at her as if something had seriously surprised him, it also looked as if he was now actually considering what she was asking all because of the word ‘please’…Then came the word, “NO.” once more… Quite firmly in fact…

 

Molly studied him for a long moment in desperation before she leaned forward slightly to whisper, as if sharing a secret, “I can get you body parts. I have some lovely fresh eyes and fingers…I would have gladly given them to your brother…but…well…They could very well be yours!” She attempted to bargain.

 

Mycroft gave a slight grimace. “I may be many things, Dr. Hooper, but I am _not_ my brother! Do please keep those body parts for Sherlock and give them to him when I bring him back to you.”

 

“Still, Mr. Holmes couldn’t you just check the cottage? What harm would it do?” Molly found herself asking once more. Her voice was now perhaps unsteady.

 

“ _Well_ …It would be highly embarrassing if I sent in a team of highly skilled men and all that ends up happening is that we scare a ninety-four year old woman who simply hoards seventy-nine cats. Surely _you_ wouldn’t like that to happen, I know _I_ bloody well wouldn’t! **_Not again!_** Once in a lifetime is enough for that to happen!” Mycroft told her in an abrupt tone as if the discussion had already been _over_ hours ago. So, why the hell would she keep bringing it up? Like a bill collector demanding money…

 

After Mycroft paused, he finally continued with, “Now…Please allow _me_ to find my dear highly annoying brother and you can go back and work in your morgue…I have heard you are good at what you do so you go and do it…And while you work please, rest that silly feminine mind, hmm? One of your weaken brain cells must not think too hard…”

 

“You are a twat,” John Watson’s voice rang from the side where he had been silently listening and watching them. “Her brain cells are just fine and better than some men I’ve known. You should listen to her, Mycroft. It’s something that we didn’t have before. Let her take some of your men and see what happens.”

 

Intense impatience showed in Mycroft’s eyes as he turned his face to study Sherlock’s best friend. “If _you_ think it’s worth checking out than _you_ go right ahead, John. The game is afoot! I however know Moriarty to be nothing more than a liar and I’m quite certain he was lying about that silly cottage. Also, there is no record of him or his brother owning one.”

 

“They were children with they spent their holidays there! So, it’s likely the cottage might be under another name…Maybe their mother’s maiden name, perhaps?” John quickly argued.

 

“ ** _If_** they even went to a bloody cottage during some stupid holiday!” Mycroft shot back nastily. “Do accept that and move on! Just as we must accept the fact that Sherlock could already be dead and the world will now be a better place because of it!”

 

Molly couldn’t have stopped herself even if she had put some effort into it. One moment she was trying real hard to be a reasonable and _nice_ adult and the next her hand was stinging harshly from the incredibly hard and loud slap she had just gifted to one, Mycroft Holmes…

 

His face was now turned away from her by the brutal force of the slap and a bright red spot revealed where exactly she had hit him. The whole world seemed to gasp right before it stood deathly still.

 

Slowly, oh so very slowly, Mycroft faced Molly once more. She watched him blink rapidly as if his mind was in shock over what had just taken place. Disbelief was paramount within his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something but nothing came out which was good because at that moment if he had…She would have gladly hit him again!

 

**“Don’t you _dare_** …” Molly informed him in a low, completely furious tone. Eyes burning with bright hot anger. “Don’t you dare _ever_ say such a vicious thing ever again, Mycroft Holmes, **_ever_**! Sherlock is still very much alive and the world would **_not_** be a better place!”

 

Molly wasn’t sure how she knew this steadfast fact…In her very heart…Deep within her very soul declared this to be true. There was something profoundly powerful within her that told her…Sherlock was still very much alive and was holding on…Waiting for…Someone, most likely John to rescue him…That something deep within her would have told her otherwise. She was certain of it. It would have hurt…shattered her into a million pieces and then died within her. Like a light slowly fading away into complete darkness…

 

Sherlock…Her Sherlock was _not_ dead…

 

Molly continued, still quite angry, “The world… _Our_ world would **not** be better off if he was dead! As his brother you know this to be true! So don’t you dare start being a lying prick like Moriarty! Now say you are sorry and that you didn’t mean what you just said…”

 

She watched Mycroft’s eyes widen even more.

 

“Say it!” Molly shouted taking a step towards him. Her hand itching to slap him once more.

 

Mycroft actually flinched and may have slowly moved towards John perhaps because he was military or even Sherlock’s best friend would somehow protect him from the wrath of an angry woman. John was still simply watching with surprised eyes and a slightly opened mouth. His body language clearly stated that he knew of Molly’s wrath and was quite grateful that it had never fallen on him…

 

“Sorry…” Mycroft muttered looking away before he looked back at her to meet her eyes than he spoke in a much stronger voice. “If I ever really lost my brother it would break my heart…and I do have one, you know? Perhaps he is my heart. He’s my brother. We don’t always _like_ each other, yet our blood declares our relationship quite loudly. Our relationship, Dr. Hooper, no matter how cruel or how at odds it can be at times is strong and true. When the game of life or even in some foolhardy game of others, calls…We stand loyal and firm at each other’s side. I might not always be a good man and neither can my brother but to be honest he’s the only… _friend_ I have. The only friend I have ever had. He’s the only one I have ever truly trusted…I was once going to send him away on a mission in which he would have been dead within six months’ time, do trust me when I say that during those six months I would have been working behind the scenes to get him out of such a ghastly predicament that I myself had placed him in…All to get him out of another of his stupid predicaments!” He admitted to her honestly.

 

Molly took a deep breath, much of her fury leaving her at his true, heartfelt words. “I understand…I do, people will say and do stupid things when they are worried and afraid…Or when they feel that must remove themselves emotionally when the one they love are in danger.” She spoke with genuine understanding yet her next words sharpened into steel. “But, Mr. Holmes… ** _never_** repeat out loud what you said. The world would _not_ be a better place if Sherlock were dead. Never say such a ghastly thing ever again. Do you understand me?”

 

Mycroft actually looked deeply ashamed of himself as he gave a quick nod. “Yes, perfectly and again…I am sorry.”

 

John looked awfully surprised. One could even say that he looked as if he wanted to quickly run and look out a window to see if the four horsemen were happily riding in the sky to declare the upcoming apocalypse.

 

Molly accepted his words with a slow nod; as if she was a queen and she was granting him something of value…She carefully placed her hands behind her back. The action actually caused the British government to relax slightly with a soft sigh of relief.

 

“So…” Molly decided to get back to the heart of the matter. Finding Sherlock and getting him out of the hands of a madman. “You won’t send men to the cottage but I can take John…Good thing he has some pictures of Moriarty’s brother’s men on his phone that Sherlock had placed on it…If we see any men in question at the cottage…Will you call in your men to help?”

 

Mycroft slowly rubbed his still red cheek thoughtfully, “Of course I will, but what exactly are you planning to do? Simply go up to the cottage and ring the bell?”

 

Molly lifted her chin and glared hotly at him. Which they both knew didn’t answer the question until she finally responded with, “Why not? Sure, I’ll simply go up and ring the bloody bell. I’ll inform who ever answers, especially if it’s a man, that I’m a member of a local cult and I’d love to save their soul with a damn fine blow job!”

 

Both men looked positively stunned, even more so than when Molly had slapped the hell right out of Mycroft…

 

John, even though he was a happily married man, looked as if he was pondering the likely hood of there actually being a cult out there full of beautiful women who simply wanted to save souls by way of blowjobs…A damn fine one at that!

 

“I’ll either have the door slammed in my face or I’ll be invited in!” Molly continued, not telling the men that if that stranger attempted to take her up on her crazy offer she’d bite him…hard…

 

Mycroft cleared his throat looking a bit uncomfortable, “I do understand that you would do **_anything_** for my dear brother but surly…”

 

“No, buts, I would do _anything_ for Sherlock, for you see, if something were to happen to him it would do more than break my heart.” Molly quickly cut in being completely straightforward.

 

“You love my brother, deeply.” Mycroft stated softly yet mildly as if discussing the weather…A chance of rain, take a good brolly when stepping outside today…

 

“Yeah,” Molly confirmed. “Everyone seems to know that fact. Congratulations, you are now in the loop with everyone else!”

 

A small smile graced Mycroft’s lips, his cold eyes actually seemed to warm a little. “Oh, joy! Normally it takes _years_ for simpleminded _everyone_ to even see a glimpse of _my_ loop…Heaven forbid they ever actually ever place themselves _in_ my loop!”

 

Molly gave him a warm and friendly smile that lit up her face…Making her extremely beautiful.

 

Something seemed to shut down within the British government as he once more went back from being momentarily human into complete stone…Now he was the wonderful arse that everyone was familiar with…making John feel more at home.

 

“Well, Dr. Hooper, you and John go off and do what **_you_** believe to be the correct course of action…For you do feel so strongly about it. I, however, will work on what **_I_** feel needs to be done. So if…or when…the time comes and you are certain that you are indeed right…Just hit speed dial one on your phone and I will have my men at your side posthaste.”

 

Molly wrinkled her brow in deep confusion. “But you’re not speed dial one on my phone…”

 

“I am now. Sherlock is moved down to number two. It happened less than twenty minutes ago…I knew I could have it changed instantly less than two minutes as you left the building without you even knowing …Though it looks like I won’t have to follow through with that plan.” Mycroft retorted. The simple way he had said it…As if such an action on his part was an everyday occurrence…Spoke volumes.

 

This man before her could easily be a scary and dangerous man to know personally…A savagely powerful one as well…One Molly had just slapped! Hmm…Oh, well...She’d do it again in a heartbeat!

 

Molly couldn’t help but take a step back before eyeing him a bit nervously…Her hand back to her side…Waiting…Mycroft gave her a cold smile as if reading her thoughts, almost daring her…Like a cat with a new toy…

 

Finally the British government continued, “Now, to be on the safe side, you and John should each take a gun. I know your grandfather was former MI5 and he taught you to shot and to handle yourself…if push ever came to shove…”

 

“I-I…” Molly’s eyes were now wide, seeming to be stunned that he knew that before explaining, “I don’t like guns. Never have…but yes, my grandfather taught me…He also said that if I was going to shot I bloody well better shot to kill…It’s different when the target is cans and bottles…Human targets are a completely different thing.”

 

“Well…As you stated Dr. Hooper, you will do **_anything_** for my dear brother.” He calmly reminded her now with no expression.

 

Molly studied him before slowly nodding as she swallowed hard. It was true. She had said just that and had meant it with all her heart… ** _Anything_** …She would, for Sherlock, she would do what she hated…She’d handle a gun…The last time…God, no, she wasn’t going to remember that! Could she hold one in her hand again? The last time had been an accident and a part of her would always be damaged because of it…

 

Could she take another life? This time on purpose? Could she? Really?

 

Molly could easily handle there being bodies on her slab…but what about a body that she had placed there herself?

 

She had to bite her bottom lip to stop if from trembling…If Mycroft knew about her MI5 grandfather than he probably knew _why_ she hated guns…Still he studied her…This time he was the one waiting…He seemed to know exactly what her response would be…

 

For Sherlock…The man she loved…A man who would never return that love but still…He was her heart…He was her friend…A tarnished knight in armor that would always be there for her, if ever need be, he would stand at her side sword at ready…She didn’t doubt that. She couldn’t ever doubt that to be a great truth. Damn it all, she’d walk through hell itself for him! She’d relieve a nightmare. A mistake that could never be fixed…never…She would probably create more nightmares before the day was done.

 

Mycroft still studied her as if she was under a high powered microscope as she nodded.

 

“I would…” Molly whispered, voice feeling weak and raw, eyes watery. “ _And I will_.”

 

With those words spoken Mycroft turned his sharp focus unto John before informing him, “Your wife is still visiting with Mrs. Hudson over at Baker Street. Go pick her up and take her with you out into the lovely country side. Do leave the baby in Mrs. Hudson’s care and then ask your wife to take you both out to her secret storage unit filled with all types of weapons that…certain people such as myself has gladly turned a blind eye to…I’m quite certain that nothing will happen but just to be on the safe side…”

 

John gave him a long look as if he didn’t want to follow _his_ orders, his brother’s orders sure, why not? But Mycroft Holmes’ orders? Not so much, no. Yet, because he was a man who would also do anything for Sherlock…No matter how annoying he could be…No matter how much questionable chemicals he may try to secretly give him…He’d follow those orders…For Sherlock, his best friend…John would even ignore that Mycroft knew things about his wife that he didn’t…

 

So John nodded before he declared as the brave and loyal soldier that he’d always be, “Let’s get this show on the road. Our best mate is waiting for us!”

 

Molly looked a bit dazed as she moved towards the door with John dreading the thought of placing a gun into her own hand…She stopped as she heard, “Oh, Dr. Hooper?”

 

“Y-Yes? And…um…please do call me, Molly.”

 

Sherlock’s brother gave a stiff nod at her words before saying some words of his own, “And so I shall, Molly and in return please call me Mycroft.”

 

“Oh…Okay…Sure.” Molly responded almost meekly, yet both men knew that meekness to be a complete lie. There was hot steel within her…Where the Holmes’ brothers were hard ice…Molly Hooper was pure fire. Warm to be near but she would burn if that someone if they did something she deemed wrong…

 

Mycroft pursed his lips into a hard, thoughtful line before asking, “Have you ever slapped my brother?”

 

Molly looked away with a deep flush upon her face, “W-Well…um…i-it’s a long story really...and um…we don’t have much time…”

 

John decided that there was enough time as he answered Mycroft. He never realized that his eyes lit up as the memory of dear, sweet, always kind, Molly Hooper as she slapped the hell out of his best friend…A friend that deserved it to be honest.

 

“Oh, she slapped him good and hard! You should have witnessed it! Molly was furious after she tested Sherlock’s piss to find him quite high. She slapped him more than once and really, I must say, it was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen…Was one of the top five, really…”

 

This man could never be trusted with sensitive secrets, he loved gossip way too much…Mycroft half expected the fact that his baby brother once wanted to be a pirate to show up in one of those ridiculous blogs he enjoyed writing…Seriously, Sherlock better **_never_** share with John that when he was a small boy Mycroft once pretended that he was a musketeer…Okay, it had been more than once…However, some facts should _never_ be shared!

 

“Interesting.” Mycroft stated softly his eyes may have been on them both but one could clearly see his thoughts were now elsewhere…

 

“Bye, Mycroft…” Molly muttered giving him a friendly finger wave as she quickly left with John a few steps behind.

 

The powerful and highly intelligent man moved towards his desk before hitting the button for his favorite PA…

 

Mycroft quickly informed his lovely Anthea what he wanted her to do before he sat down and placed his fingertips together under his chin, completely dismissing her, trusting that she’d get what he wanted her to do done…

 

Suddenly, he was standing in his favorite mind rose garden outside his large and beautiful mind castle. His brother lounged in a comfortable lawn chair. Wearing his shiny blue dressing gown, a nice familiar dress shirt and dark trousers…His feet were completely bare and from two of his fingers dangled a lit cigarette. Both men simply studied each other. Neither of them saying a bloody thing…

 

“She’s perfect…” Mycroft finally spoke. His brother’s handsome face revealed nothing as he continued, “ _For you_ …She’s perfect for you.”

 

Sherlock lifted the cigarette to his lips still saying nothing. Still showing no expression what so ever…He may have wiggled his toes at him, however…

 

Mycroft sighed in annoyance, even in his mind Sherlock never did what he wanted him to do.

 

Like talk to him!

 

“Do you know that? That your pathologist is perfect for you?” Mycroft asked, watching as Sherlock slowly blew out the smoke between his lips.

 

Mycroft had to continue, feeling for once oddly chatty, that feeling didn’t happen too often… “All that beautiful fire…Molly Hooper could easily melt the iciest of hearts, especially yours, dear brother. She loves and accepts you the way you are…However, she won’t accept any crap out of you, nor would she ignore your horrid drug habit. I…find I could easily respect her…even like her. Mummy would love her quite easily. So, _tell me_ … **Do you know that your Molly is perfect for you?** ”

 

Something flashed in his brother’s eyes only for a second before he finally answered, “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. You know bloody well that I always miss _something_ , brother mine…But do trust me, I never miss that _something_ for long.”

 

Mycroft slowly smiled, pleased, “No, you don’t _especially_ if I lend a hand…Also, I think at some point I’ll share with you about Molly being willing to give strangers blowjobs for you…I highly doubt you would be apathetic about that! Might even make you…well show her that she’s _yours_ , yes? Irene Adler might be ‘ _the_ woman’ to you but ‘ _your_ woman’ is quite a different matter! I think this might just be fun…Getting the two of you together…Oh, yes, I think I will lend a helping hand!”

 

Sherlock chuckled, his eyes full of boyish mischief…The same eyes he had when he had made Mycroft walk the plank with his stick, pretending it was a sword in his ‘I’m a pirate’ days… “You do that, Mycroft. You help me out with **_my_** woman and while you poke that hornet nest with a stick…I will be in my mind palace strangling you… ** _and_** enjoying it!”

 

As Sherlock brought the cigarette up to his smiling lips once more…Mycroft couldn’t help but think his brother could be a bloody prick at times…

 

With that he was back in reality…He had important things to do…His main one at the moment was to get his brother back before it was too late…

 

~*~End of Part 2~*~

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, never fear there will be more, but I've been promising this part for awhile.
> 
> And so here it is, I have rewritten this part many times, I am sorry for any mistakes but after the sixth time of looking it over, changing things…I finally thought ‘screw it, this is as good as it’s going to get.’ 
> 
> I really wish I was as talented as some other writers out there but sadly not going to happen…Anyway, I’m happy to share this with you and hope like hell that you continue to enjoy…

 

~*~And So Beats A Gentle Heart~*~

 

~*~PART 3~*~

 

_‘Now, I’ll state the case clearly and concisely to you, Watson, and maybe you can see a spark where all is dark to me’_

 

-The Man With The Twisted Lip by Arthur Conan Doyle

 

_‘Draw your chair and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still to solve is how to while the away these bleak autumnal evenings’_

 

 _-_ The Noble Bachelor by Arthur Conan Doyle

 

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

 

Luckily, Molly did not have to offer any strangers a blowjob. Thank goodness. Though Mary did agree that it would perhaps get them through the door quite quickly and thought it would be hilarious to try it. John, however, their favorite ‘stick in the mud’, had put his foot down and said they weren’t doing that, _never_ …Even though Molly was extremely worried over Sherlock she couldn’t help but giggle when Mary leaned towards her to whisper… “He’s just worried people will mistake him for the gay member of our cult.”

 

Anyway, they came up with another plan...One that didn’t involve talk of blowjobs…or even the offering up of blowjobs…

 

However, Molly would indeed go up to the door to ask if they had seen her dear sweet kitty anywhere. She’d claim to live somewhere nearby andthat her dear sweet indoor, diabetic cat had snuck out and she was so worried over her little angel…Secretly, her ‘little angel’ was actually a ‘little devil’ but she’d be happy to go with that plan…Whether they’d believe her however…

 

So, Mary had thought to help cheer her on with the words, “Just think of poor dead kittens…or dead lifeless, pushing up the daises, Toby! If you fear that won’t work I’ll slap you a few times and pour some eye drops into your eyes and if none of that helps…I won’t have sex with John tonight.”

 

“Oi! Why—“John tried to say as he looked at his beautiful wife in complete shock.

 

Mary simply smiled innocently and gave a ‘could care less’ shrug.

 

Molly found herself smiling as well…For it was sweet really, how Mary would tease her husband…

 

They had a lighthearted batter between them…God…Their love…the love they had for one another made her yearn for that for herself. Their love was so real and true…and from what she understood John was a very forgiving man towards her as well as loyal…She wished…oh, how she wished…but it didn’t seem that kind of love would ever be hers…ever…

 

Their love amazed her and perhaps bewildered her a little bit…Especially, after what John had told her…

 

~*~SH~*~SH~*~

 

When Molly had John _why_ would Mary have a secret stash of weapons, while they had been on the way to Baker Street to pick her up…John had grown quiet for so long that she had begun to believe he wasn’t ever going to answer her question.

 

Finally he said softly, “My wife has a past and her past can bloody well stay there. It’s her business; my business is our present and our future…”

 

Molly thought about what he was saying before guessing, “Is her past why you left your pregnant wife and moved back in with Sherlock for a time?”

 

John looked at her for a long moment before confirming, “Yeah, pretty much…I felt she had lied, and she had, no doubt, but maybe I believed those lies because I had wanted too. I feared that I…Well, I realized that maybe I had never known the real…Mary and if I ever did know the woman who protected herself behind that blasted wall of secrets and lies…Would I like her much less love her…What if everything was a lie. Her love, our love…I was angry and I was hurt…But I love her and you know what I can be hurt and lied to and still love her. Sherlock taught me that. He…Look at all he’s done to me, he’s even given me chemicals secretly and even faked his own death right in front of me…and he can really tear the heart right out of me, without even trying…and yet…”

 

“You still love him…” Molly finished for him in a whisper.

 

“Yeah…I do…” John whispered right back before he cleared his throat and said in a normal tone. “How can I _not_ forgive them both? They are different in many ways yet they are two damaged, talented souls…Sometimes they seem flawed in some way and yet… whether both of them like it are not they are also human…”

 

Now they were both silent. John looked out the passenger window as Molly attempted to concentrate on her driving. She hadn’t done this in years but it seemed to be coming back to her. Mary had let John take the car and John had asked if she wanted to drive to Baker Street. She thought it was quite possibly a reward for letting him watch her slap the hell out of Sherlock’s brother. Molly obviously accepted seeing that she was now behind the wheel.

 

John sighed, “You are a good, loyal friend so you deserve to know this secret…and it has to stay just that… _a secret_ …”

 

“So, no writing about it in your blog then?” Molly guessed.

 

“No…I can’t blog about it.” Seriously, there was almost a pout forming in his tone as if he had been quite tempted to tell the world before he settled for telling her, “Mary is a **_former_** assassin and Mary’s not even her real name…Everything you thought you knew about her is rubbish…in fact…She’s not even British!”

 

What the hell!

 

The car swerved but she quickly regained control.

 

“What do you mean that Mary’s not even British?!”

 

John chuckled, “ _I know_ , crazy right? Trust me, I was shocked as well…Okay, not so much about her actually being an American but the whole assassin thing sure threw me into a big emotional turmoil. I mean, here was the woman I had been living with and who I loved…and she was living a lie, telling me lies…”

 

“God, seriously? Tell me you are pulling my leg!” Molly asked still deeply shocked.

 

“No, honest! Everything I’m telling you is the truth! My lovely wife is a cold blooded killer…Which to be honest I’m a bit disturbed by how much that turns me on.”

 

“Oh, please! I don’t care about that…but…seriously, Mary’s not _British_?” Molly repeated still finding that hard to believe.

 

Molly for some reason could accept everything else. So…Mary had wanted a different life and created a lie to achieve a new life for herself, leaving everything behind. In her new life, she met and found John Watson…And later John found out he had married a former assassin…Molly had no doubt Sherlock had been involved in his best friend finding out the truth…

 

Okay, well, if one thinks about it people have been known to change their career choice _all_ the time and Molly didn’t see anything wrong with that. A bit brave at times and at the end of the day Mary was a _former_ assassin, one who would do anything to protect this new life she had created for herself. That would make her quite deadly and perhaps quite scared too.

 

Wondering if or when her past would catch up with her one day…Hoping never…Plus, with her new life, Mary worked at the hospital…So once where she took lives she now helped others heal and live…

 

For some reason, Molly felt she couldn’t judge John’s wife…and she wouldn’t…Instead, she felt respect for her. Here Mary was trying to live a life that didn’t involve killing and she was trying to be a good person…

 

Whereas Molly was simply trying to live her own life without becoming too slap happy with the people around her. Lately, it looked as if she was failing at that. First, Sherlock and know Mycroft…

 

God, _both_ Holmes brothers’ probably hated her now. Mycroft will probably put her on his annual audit list and Sherlock…He’ll probably be cold and distant towards her, not even caring that she was desperate to save him at the present moment. She’d do whatever was needed for the man…Yet, she knew he would never care about her the way she cared about him but--

 

John broke into her thoughts with a laugh. “No, Molly, Mary isn’t British!”

 

Molly blinked before she whispered, “ _Weird._ ”

 

A smile graced his face. “I know…Lucky for me, I don’t mind weird, in fact… _It’s what I like_.”

 

~*~SH~*~SH~*~

 

And so that was that…

 

No more had been said about Mary not being British or her being a former assassin with her own secret storage unit full of weapons…They didn’t even talk any more of her lies…In the end of the day they were _her_ secrets and lies created before she had even met John…And no matter what he still loves her.

 

To John that was simply the truth of the matter. He loves her and she…Mary loves John in return. So they would do whatever was necessary to protect each other…To handle any storm together…

 

It was a thing of beauty really, their love. One she had tried so desperately to find for herself. Molly had wanted it so badly that she had even attempted to find it or at least fake it with Tom.

 

It had been stupid of her, yes, but she had actually thought that if she kept telling herself what a good man he was and what a wonderful man he was…Any woman would be so lucky to have him…Hell, he’d make someone a damn fine husband and how lucky was she that he wanted to be _her_ husband…Oh, if she acted the part long enough surely it would become real?

 

That real love that her silly heart yearned for…Oh, God, how she had hoped that the love she had felt for Sherlock would fade away with time…He had even left, and she knew he wouldn’t be back in perhaps for _years_ …Surely, she would be able to move on…and so she had tried. Seriously, she had…but…

 

Damn it all, she wanted to have a man who loved her and would even want to have children with…

 

Molly wanted a life outside the great consulting detective…and seeing how he had no interest in wanting a life _with her_ …Much less have coffee with her…Much less date…or something…She accepted that. Sherlock Holmes did not see her in that way, she was blessed that he was willing enough to call her a friend.

 

Yet…

 

She kept having that ridiculous fantasy that had him loving her back…Molly could never quite get rid of that totally stupid and foolish hope that maybe…one day…but it never seemed to happen. That hope survived, refusing to surrender itself, refusing to die…No matter what she did…Hope was still there. Waiting…Breathing life…Fanning the flame…

 

So it was still there. Always there, that lovely sweet daydream of coming home and having Sherlock being there. As if he belonged…as if he had always been there waiting for her to show up. The place filled as always with his countless experiments as she walked in. Her stuff mixed with his…

 

Of course, he wouldn’t ask how her day went, he’d have no interest but he would ask her if she had brought home some new random body part. He’d rant about some new case or even worse _no_ case…

 

And sometime during the night, she could clearly picture lying in bed, waken at some insaneungodly hour for in the next room Sherlock was playing his violin…Only sometime later would he crawl back into his side of the bed and pull her into his arms…those lovely wonderful arms…One place she was certain she’d feel the safest…

 

“I wrote that for you…” He’d whisper soothingly into her ear.

 

Yet, no matter how stupid she called herself…That stupid, oh so stupid, fantasy never went away…

 

She knew…Damn it all, she knew he didn’t believe in love. It was too ridiculous and highly illogical for him…He swore he was married to his work. He was more interested in the cases, the work than silly things like desire and love…especially romance…well, the world just might come to an end if Sherlock Holmes ever willingly ‘romanced’ or courted anyone…especially if it didn’t involve some sort of above a level eight case.

 

She told her heart and even her mind that time and time again but, her silly heart refused to listen. It seemed to be completely deaf…

 

The fantasies of a life with Sherlock, of him loving her back…hurt. Painfully…Sometimes they would leave her feeling raw and she wished those fantasies, that seemed so very real, would go away and leave her the hell alone.

 

When Sherlock came back from the so called ‘dead’…She told herself that she could prove to others and more importantly to herself that she had obviously moved on… _Yeah, right._ Each time Tom had touched her…held her in his arms she had honestly felt…well, she had felt as if she was being unfaithful to Sherlock. She knew that was silly of course… _Really silly_ …

 

But no matter what it had felt as if she was cheating on Sherlock…and she knew she wasn’t…But still her heart deemed her a betrayer no matter how many times she swore she wasn’t betraying him. Sherlock didn’t even _care_ about the fact she had been about to become another man’s wife…She was happy to simply be Sherlock’s friend, why…really _why_ … couldn’t her heart do the same?

 

In the end, however, Tom had known and even accepted what her heart had always known. Tom could never replace Sherlock in her heart or even in her mind…He couldn’t even take away her fantasies of the man. No matter how hard she tired or wished it. So, Tom had willingly left and Molly had been surprised with how okay she was about him leaving. In fact, even Tom seemed totally okay about it too. Surely, if they had both been in love…There would have been more disappointment…and hurt…perhaps even angry bitter words…not simple acceptance as if they had both known their marriage was never meant to be…

 

~*~SH~*~SH~*~

 

When Tom and her had been breaking up…Tom finally told her honestly and with sad eyes that he hadn’t been in any hurry about getting married and he hadn’t even been sure that he had even _wanted_ to get married…but his Mum had been so sick when he had met Molly…and…Well, his mum had kept talking about how she wished he’d find a good girl and settle down…

 

And when they had gone over to meet Tom’s mom…Molly remembered him taking her to meet his pale fragile looking mother…Her smile beautiful and kind beautiful eyes…And from her bed, her weak hands had reached out and grabbed hers…After they had finished talking and they moved to leave she had grabbed on to her son’s sleeve and after a horrible wheezing spell…She had looked at him…

 

“I like her, Tom…She’s a good girl…You can’t go wrong with her…She’s such a good girl…”

 

She had then smiled at Molly…Some type of longing in her eyes that Tom seemed to understand. It hadn’t been long after that, that he had asked Molly to marry him. She should have known then…Tom hadn’t really cared about his own happiness, just his darling mum’s. Tom’s mother had been so happy those last few months of her life…So very happy…

 

As Molly handed him his ring back he had asked her forgiveness…

 

“I fear I used you but I honestly thought I could make you happy and that maybe…Maybe I could love you, one day…You seemed so easy to love, hell, my own mum fell for you instantly so I had thought…I’m sorry, Molly…really…you…you deserve so much better yet I used you…Please…Forgive me, Molly, please…”

 

Molly had taken his hand.

 

“You don’t need my forgiveness…For I fear…I think I used you as well…I’m so…sorry, Tom…”

 

He had nodded before he leaned over to give her a chaste kiss on her cheek. Once more she found herself wishing it was Sherlock’s lips upon her cheek.

 

He looked at her as if he heard her thoughts… “Don’t be…I understand, Molly, really I do…I can never be Sherlock Holmes…You love him, you will always love him…”

 

With tears running down her cheeks Molly had softly agreed, “I do…I’m sorry, but I do…”

 

He gave her a sad smile and before he left he told her, “Don’t be sorry…Thank you for making my Mum so happy those last few months…You even let her take control over the wedding planning even though I could tell you felt uncomfortable about it, nor did you like her color schemes or anything…Hell, black and white…Those couldn’t have been the colors you’d pick for yourself…Anyway, thank you, Molly…I do…I really do wish you the best and that…that arse Sherlock Holmes sees what a treasure you really are and when that day happens, I hope he knows he’d be a bloody fool to ever let you go.”

 

As if…As if the brilliant Sherlock Holmes could ever love her. Could ever accept her love as she accepted all his good points and all his horrible faults…

 

He would never hold her…So there was no need to worry about him letting her go…

 

Then Tom left for good and she was once again alone.

 

Always alone.

 

~*~SH~*~SH~*~

 

Oh, how Molly longed, yearned actually, for the love she witnessed between John and Mary…

 

Yes, Mary guarded her past and didn’t trust all that well and she was now known to be able to lie quite well. Then there was John, a man who was not a fan of lies or even betrayal…They were both fighters, however…and John also knew how to forgive with an open heart…Trusting that things will get better.

 

Mary and Sherlock both needed a man like Dr. John Watson in their lives. One that can accept any fault that they may have and can accept them the way they are…Yet, somehow at the end of the day make them a little more human…

 

Not that any of that mattered at the moment. Nope. What mattered was finding and rescuing Sherlock.

 

Something in her heart told her that they would indeed find him soon…Which was very true indeed…

 

In the end Molly hadn’t needed to offer up a blowjob to some random stranger…Nope…Hell, they didn’t even need to use their other plan of her supposedly looking for her dear beloved Toby…

 

_Nope…_

 

What had actually happened is she never once knocked on the door…

 

John left Molly and Mary hiding behind some crazy big bushes as he went as John had quietly termed it ‘to get a quick look around’…Surprisingly, it didn’t take John long before he was back. Molly had jumped and tried not to gasp too loudly when John’s hand had fallen upon her shoulder. She had frozen when her eyes looked at his face, suddenly scared. The normally warm, friendly eyes were hard as steel and coldly determined. Those eyes of his instantly reminded her that he was a damn fine, good, if not haunted soldier.

 

_‘Once a soldier, always a soldier.’_

 

Echoed inside her head for a moment…

 

“Hit speed dial one, Molly.” John ordered softly, his tone venomous with fury…Whatever he had seen, had upset him greatly. “You tell Mycroft that we’ve found him and _we_ are going in, **_now_**. We are not waiting for his men; they can damn well do clean up…Also, tell him that we need to have a helicopter so we can get his brother to the hospital _immediately_.”

 

When he said those words Molly could have sworn her heart had stopped beating for a long moment.

 

She quickly did as John demanded with slightly trembling fingers …Oh, how worried she was for Sherlock…Just how bad was it that John was this angry? What had he seen? At least, they knew where Sherlock was…in the cottage…A beautiful looking cottage on the outside but what kind of hell was on the inside?

 

Oh, God, her Sherlock was seriously hurt…Very badly if from the raw fury coming from Sherlock’s best friend seemed to reveal.

 

As she quickly talked to Mycroft she tried to also listen to John and Mary quickly create a battle plan. It could have been easily believed that they had done something like this before. They made a damn fine team…Great partners…

 

What were they going to do? How would they do it?

 

In the end it came down to John deciding to attack them, first with some smoke bombs while John and Molly entered the front and Mary would take the back…Their main goal was to get to the room on the right, and passed the kitchen area. Molly had been slightly surprised that John wanted her at his side instead of his wife until she really thought about it. Even though John had learned that she knew how to handle a gun, he had still noticed how her fingers had shook holding such a deadly weapon…He had also noticed how ghastly pale she was at the thought of using it…and John was also smart enough to know that she damn sure wasn’t going to sit on the bench and what for John and Mary to rescue Sherlock.

 

That was _so_ not going to happen!

 

Not when Sherlock needed them…

 

John wanted Molly at his side so that he could protect her if the need called for it. While Mary…Well, she was a former assassin and knew how to fight and take care of herself in a battle.

 

Mary had even told her that she worked better as a ‘lone warrior’…That’s what she had called herself, a ‘lone warrior’…A lone warrior who could do the team work thing as long as it worked out well for her and Molly knew that there was more there to what she had been saying…There had been a certain look in her eyes…

 

Mary Watson was a killing machine when it was necessary to be one…A killing machine that didn’t want her husband to _see_ her in action. To _know_ it was one thing but to actually _see_ it was another…Perhaps she didn’t even want Molly to see what she could be. Who she really was…

 

So, Molly had nodded in understanding…and was at John’s side when they broke in. John and Molly taking the front, Mary the back…Simple…and real…So very real…

 

The gun in Molly’s hand felt so unnatural in her hand and so very wrong…

 

Even if years ago she could handle one like a pro…Maybe it was different because she knew firsthand what a bullet shooting from a gun could do to a human body…The damage…The nightmares it could create.

 

Molly knew way she had such a strong dislike for them especially after…after…

 

**NO!**

 

She couldn’t think or deal with that horrible memory right now… _Not now_ …Not when Sherlock needed her…

 

She couldn’t deal with that now, perhaps never…No, Molly wasn’t going to allow her thoughts to go to that night so long ago…Another time she had held a gun…

 

Sherlock…Her Sherlock needed her and she would always be there for him when he needed her to be…No matter what…No matter what ghosts would later torment her…

 

 _He needed her_ and so…with a weapon she despised…She helped raid the cottage with John and Mary.

 

It really was a lovely cottage…Molly could easily picture an artist painting it in some lovely romantic light and someone, perhaps even someone like her, would hang upon the wall…Yet…Inside was a hurting Sherlock…

 

It seemed they had indeed taken Moriarty’s brother’s men by complete surprise…and shots were even fired and Molly had to be honest, John had some surprisingly impressive moves…

 

At one point, Molly had to do the one thing that she had feared doing…

 

She was forced to kill…again.

 

Much like last time, only one bullet was needed. However, this time it was no accident. She had to do it, because another gunman had been about to take John’s life…and without thinking, without even blinking she had fired…To save his life, she had used a weapon that she hated with a passion.

 

And in that moment, Sherlock’s best friend and blogger was saved…No matter how close the other man had gotten to the kill shot, Molly was faster. Her aim was sure and true…Her grandfather would be proud…

 

_“When you hold a gun, pumpkin, remember it’s not a toy. It’s a weapon meant for killing so when you aim it, when you pull that trigger, remember your goal is to kill. That is what it’s for; otherwise there is absolutely no point in having this in your hand…No point at all.”_

 

In that moment, her grandfather’s words seemed to echo in her mind, touching her very soul. His voice had been kind when he had spoken those words…

 

That night when she had accidently taken another life they had been there as well…

 

This time she didn’t have time to look at the corpse that she had created…this time on purpose.

 

Molly had a feeling that later that night, when she was alone those words would come to her again…The feel and weight of the gun, the smell and the sound of the weapon being fired would try to dim the words…Everything about this moment in time would suddenly become clearer and sharper…The memory of another time would fight and try to take its place…

 

And while both memories tormented her, Molly would weep into her pillow…

 

When she was alone…And not even Toby’s presence would be able to comfort her…

 

She knew that was bound to happen…Her crying over a man she didn’t even know…Would never know.

 

Even if the man who had been so willing to take John’s life had obviously been a bad man…Surely someone was missing him…Some family…Maybe some friends…and she had taken him out of their lives without hesitation…

 

In the end none of that mattered, really…

 

All that mattered was Sherlock. Saving him and getting him back. Her fears, sadness over what had to be done, her memories of the past and not even her future tears over everything that was happening mattered. Not the past…Nope, all that was at the moment, simply rubbish.

 

_~All that mattered…~_

 

They found him, thank God, they found him…Just in time…They found him.

 

_~All that mattered was Sherlock…~_

 

He was so badly beaten…God, it looked as if he had been savagely, hellishly tortured…

 

What nightmare had Sherlock just survived?

 

_~All that mattered to Molly was that her Sherlock, her beloved Sherlock, was alive…~_

 

He was covered in bruises…Sores and blood…None of this was good, but he was alive. His eyes, Sherlock’s beautiful eyes…One eye actually for the other seemed swollen shut…But if Molly could have seen that one as well, she knew pain would be radiating from it…

 

_~She was so very thankful that he had held on…Of course, he was Sherlock Holmes, he could survive anything…even torture…Damn, that Moriarty…Damn his brother too…~_

 

Molly didn’t recall dropping her weapon…All she knew was that her hands were suddenly undoing the tight straps holding him down…

 

It was no surprise, of course, that John was instantly there at Sherlock’s side. Taking care, trying to fix the damage that had been done…Taking care of his best friend as only a good doctor should all the while cursing Moriarty’s brother as only a best friend can do…

 

When they freed Sherlock, Molly tried to help John, help Sherlock but…He grabbed her…

 

_~Molly had always known that Sherlock Holmes was a strong man and she was so damn thankful for that fact. So very thankful that he was a survivor. He would never die willingly, she had always known that he wasn’t just a brilliant man, but he was also a fighter...~_

 

Oh…God…

 

He looked so weak…A fragile human, so damn breakable…So the strength in his hands seriously surprised her as he pulled her to him and held her tight.

 

“Molly…Molly…” His voice sounded so raw and so soft…The way he said her name almost had her falling apart…Shattering her in a million pieces.

 

_~Sherlock Holmes was alive! Thank God, he was alive!~_

 

“I kept my promise to you, Molly…” Sherlock continued as if proud of some great accomplishment.

 

Molly honestly had no idea what he was talking about.

 

As if replying to her unspoken question he said, “I promised _you_ that _I would live_ …that…that I wouldn’t die by that bastard’s hands…I promised you and I will hold true to that promise I made you, Molly…”

 

Tears, her tears fell.

 

_~Sherlock had promised her and somehow he found the strength to survive…~_

 

He had made a promise to her, Molly Hooper…A promise made to her, kept him alive…She may not have heard it or even witnessed it but he had kept his word…His vow…to her…

 

Molly never thought she could love him more…yet…somehow…She did.

 

Those words he had just spoken. Those words to her meant so damn much. They were the most beautiful and lovely words that he had ever said to her…He could so easily be such a cruel, emotionless man at times but at the moment…

 

His honesty touched her very soul and attempted to heal it…Sooth away any pain…Take away the nightmare and replace it with something that was good.

 

She would cherish those words and hold them tightly in her heart. She’d always treasure them. Always.

 

His promise to her, a promise she knew nothing about, gave them the needed time to rescue him. To help him…

 

So much chaos was going on. Mycroft’s men came. A medical helicopter showed up not a moment too soon…

 

It wasn’t until things started to calm down a bit that they realized that somehow that…There had been an unknown trap door, that Mycroft’s men later found…Moriarty’s brother had somehow escaped the cottage and the pure madness that was going on…

 

_~Molly didn’t think of herself as a violent person. A little slap happy, sure…But for once she really wanted her foot to be surgically removed from that bastard’s ass. It would have entered sideways, of course…~_

 

So, that bastard was still out there. Burning with revenge…this madness wasn’t over yet.

 

Nope, it wasn’t over…

 

Moriarty’s brother had started this war…and, no doubt about it, Sherlock would be quite determined to finish it.

 

No one would be able to stop it. No one.

 

_~The game was on…~_

 

~*~The End of Part 3~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I do hope that you are looking forward to more and that this part didn’t suck too badly. I do apologize if it did…
> 
> Otherwise, have a lovely day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope that you continue to enjoy. I thank everyone for taking the time to read this and the kudos as well as the comments...

 

~*~And So Beats A Gentle Heart~*~

~*~PART 4~*~

_Poor devil, how could I be angry when I saw him lying in such a plight before me?_

-The Dying Detective by Arthur Conan Doyle

_I was bitterly hurt._

_‘Such a remark is unworthy of you, Holmes.’_

_-_ The Dying Detective by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

Sherlock Holmes is a ‘stubborn sod’ as well as an ‘annoying twat’ and sometime later John threw in some other interesting and some quite vulgar words as he growled all this personally to the great consulting detective…all because Sherlock refused to stay in prison or what was better known as the hospital…

And yes, Sherlock knew without any doubt that he should stay in this… _hospital_ …Only Sherlock could say it like a violent curse word and truly mean it. Yet, he didn’t want to stay in this building meant to heal or this even this bloody horrible bed. He also knew quite well, in fact, that John standing there calling him all sorts of nasty things was because he generally cared about him…and was greatly worried…overwhelmingly concerned and perhaps…a bit scared.

Sherlock had come close to dying and John never took such an awful thing very well.

And, anyway, John was much more furious with Moriarty’s brother than he was with him. For his best friend hated that someone would dare to hurt much less torture Sherlock…Of course, John being the kind and loyal friend that he was…would indeed become angry when his friends were hurt in some way…That was just the good doctor’s nature.

Sherlock understood all this, really he did. As much as he would have hated to admit it, he, himself, would have been more than furious if John had been the one who had been beaten and tortured. Honestly, he would have gone off and killed the person responsible not before he had personally asked his brother, which he would have hated to do, to watch over his best friend. To have nothing but the best doctors and perhaps a guard at John’s door…Then, Sherlock would have been off comfortable in the thought that his dear friend was safe in a blasted hospital bed with perhaps his wife and offspring at his side…

But John Watson was _not_ Sherlock Holmes and it had been Sherlock who had been so brutally tortured…and now he argued quite hotly with his trusted doctor, his loyal, dear and at this moment, highly annoyed friend. 

“No, Sherlock!” John said in true sharp frustration.

“Either help me, John, escape this hellhole or _I will_ escape on my own!” Sherlock stated before reminding his best friend, “I’ve done that before, remember? Trust me; I can easily do it again!”

Worried anger continued to flash in John’s eyes as he looked at his heavily bruised and almost fragile looking man lying upon the bed. “This hospital is _not_ a prison, Sherlock! You need—“

“NO!” Sherlock cut him off, “ _I need_ to be home at Baker Street! _I need_ to start hunting down that complete arsehole! _I need_ to work. _I need to heal in my own way!_ The only way to do that is to rain down my brand of vengeance upon him, John… _I don’t need_ to climb out the window and shimmy down a drain pipe with my bare arse trying to outshine the bloody moon! I already did that once, I don’t wish to do so again!”

“Not my fault you decided to be a sodding idiot after you were shot!” John yelled, clearly still very angry with his friend.

Sherlock felt his jaw tighten before he took a deep breath, refusing to look at his best friend as he swallowed his pride and _almost_ begged. “Please, John…Please…I just…I need to leave. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home. Please…”

“Jesus, Sherlock…You need to heal. My God, look at yourself…” John replied, his voice tight with emotion.

Sherlock shook his head, before telling him stubbornly, truthfully and softly, “I don’t want to look at myself. I just want to go home.” 

Sherlock seriously feared that his voice reflected his weariness…his raw pain…The ache of his wounds. His body was letting him know just how unhappy it was…But his brain was determined to show it just who was boss.

“You are staying here, Sherlock, even if I have to tie you to that bloody bed myself!”

“Seriously? Must I remind you that I’ve already been strapped down quite recently? On a metal slab? Remember how you found me? Go ahead, _try_ to tie me down and I promise you… _mate_ …you won’t like what will happen!” Sherlock sharply said these words coldly and cruelly…Yet…John’s reaction wasn’t anger…not even fear…but shame.

“Right…I shouldn’t have said…” John muttered in apology, looking extremely uncomfortable.

Sherlock tried to relax and attempted to give a careless shrug. “It’s…what it is. I wasn’t always strapped to that metal slab, you know…At first, when I woke up I was strung up by my chained wrists…” He looked down to eye the savagely dark and thick bracelet like bruises upon his wrists before continuing…Trying to make it sound as if he was chatting about the silly London weather. “I found it all to be quite uncomfortable, John…I guess that is the thing about torture…It’s not meant to be comfortable.” 

“Sherlock…”

He ignored John hoarse whisper of his name, Sherlock’s eyes now focused completely on him. “I have been beaten, whipped and tortured. I just want to go home, John, that’s all…I must work on finding Moriarty’s brother, I can’t do that from this bed…”

Sherlock stopped for a moment to swallow hard, still looking at his best friend, hoping to make him understand.

“I don’t…” Sherlock began once more, his voice now a mere fragile thread of sound before he cleared his throat to try again, “I can handle the torture, John. I can handle all that he did to me…But I…I can’t handle the thought that next time it won’t be me. It could be you or Mary or Mrs. Hudson instead. I know he will continue to play with me. He wants to punish me for his brother’s death. Moriarty’s brother wants to punish me for daring to live when it was his baby brother who died. I may not have pulled that trigger but he honestly believes that…that I might as well have. He believes that I killed him…The way he sees it I’m a worthless murderer. I can’t change his mind about that. I am the enemy and I must pay…I am worried, John. How is he going to make me pay? Hmm? What if…What if he captures you and tortures…you…”

Or what if he captures and tortures Molly?

Sherlock wasn’t sure why exactly but that thought made his heart stop.

James Moriarty had once informed him years ago by a lovely pool that he was going to burn him…burn his heart…

What if Moriarty’s damn brother finished the blasted job?

That bloody bastard had to be stopped. He couldn’t be allowed to harm Molly or John…Not even his dear Mrs. Hudson…He could, however, have Mycroft, if he wanted…

Now that he thought about it…

No, he could have Mycroft.

Otherwise…The funny thing was that life really was unexpected. He loved it when cases had the unexpected twist…But life in itself was the true mystery. There had been a time, long ago, when he had no friends…Now; he even had a best friend and…his pathologist…and other people in his life that he could perhaps call… _friends_ …In some illogical way he had family had been created around him, they might not be blood but they seemed to have become his family nonetheless…

Mycroft would probably tell him that he had been better off without his friends…But Sherlock didn’t see how that was true. He liked having John, Mary, Mrs. Hudson, and even Lestrade in his life…Especially Molly in his life.

Sherlock had a band of people he felt he could trust and in his own way…care about.

Okay, he wouldn’t want Mycroft to be in Moriarty’s brother’s hands…For being his arch-nemesis Mycroft was quite useful to have in his blasted corner every now and again…Only every now and then, of course.

And Moriarty’s brother…There was a true sod. Sherlock knew he always missed something but the thought he had missed the fact that Moriarty had a brother! A twisted sick brother…who had deeply loved his baby evil genius of a brother and was perhaps a great help in James’ powerful network…and probably the only true confidant James had really…Damn he could easily be a blind beetle at times!

Sherlock could still remember James Moriarty’s words quite clearly…He had wanted to ‘burn his heart’ and completely destroy Sherlock’s life and everything he held dear…and to be honest, Sherlock didn’t want anyone to destroy what he now had. Seriously, he could damn well screw it all up on his own, thank you very much!

“Sherlock…” John’s voice cut into his thoughts, forcing Sherlock to look at him once more. “Please, I’m worried about you…”

“Of course you are, John. You are a doctor and my best friend…Seriously, I don’t need to be a great detective or even use my skill of deduction to realize that! But surely you can worry about me from Baker Street instead of here!”

“Sherlock…” John sighed, rubbing his hand across his face.

Sherlock continued to study him with completely unsympathetic eyes before asking, “Where is Molly?”

John removed his hand to study him before stating calmly, “She went home but don’t worry. Mycroft’s men have looked her flat over before allowing her inside…There will even be some of his men around to keep a watchful eye on things outside her flat and on her. Also, seriously she now has the British government on speed dial! Mycroft has even sent some dangerous men and women with Mary and keep an eye on things from that front…Which is kinda funny if you really think about it…They are going to try to keep my wife, who is a former assassin nice and safe!”

“Yet…What I’m really hearing is that Molly is actually _alone_ right now.” Sherlock decided to point out. For some unknown reason he was feeling a slow anger start to burn within him…And John, dear John, was supposed to understand! Really, he was the one who understood people, right? Yet…Didn’t he _see_?

“Yes, she’s alone, sure, but she’s quite safe, Sherlock. She needs her rest.” John told him, still sounding so very calm and completely unbothered.

Sherlock’s hands curled into fists. Oh, how he hated this! Hated with a passion dealing with silly emotions! Emotions had no logic to them. Emotions never solved mysteries! And being the type of man that he was he could normally turn them off much like flipping off a switch. He was usually more logical then… _then this!_

Perhaps, damn his soul, he was still quite vulnerable from the aftermath of being tortured…He didn’t want to be bothered with it all really.

“You’re wrong.” Sherlock simply stated. Knowing that John had been wrong many times before and it really wasn’t a great surprise. Sherlock wondered if his heavily bruised face was at least blank and completely emotionless. Please…Let him still have that! “Molly is not going to _rest_ tonight, John.”

No…Not his Molly…Not after saving him and definitely not after saving John’s life as well.

“You told me,” Sherlock continued, “how she shot a man, John, for _you_. You as well as I know that Molly Hooper is no soldier. She’s loyal, kind and good hearted like you but she’s no killer. She…Molly will never be a killer and though she is use to dead bodies…she…she doesn’t like being the reason they are dead! She respects life and even death but there is something about…Do you know that she sometimes hum while doing an autopsy? Sometimes she will even smile a little bit…The outside world might not understand such actions. She is probably at home hating herself right now because she took someone’s life…Even if that someone was trying to steal yours. She’s not you John, she damn sure isn’t me and she will never be your Mary! Molly really shouldn’t be alone, John…”

“Damn…You’re right…” John muttered.

Sherlock nodded…He could picture Molly so clearly in his head. She’d be alone, of course. Curled up upon her bed, perhaps, even holding her pillow quite close as if seeking comfort. She’d be thinking about that moment…The simple moment where she decided to save Sherlock’s best friend.

And damn it all, Molly was probably crying! She didn’t need to cry! Normally, Sherlock could simply care less about some silly female crying…but for some reason the thought of Molly’s tears…bothered him greatly…In fact; they wounded him far more than any torture done to him by Moriarty’s brother’s hands. However he would never admit that out loud. Ever!

“You need to call her, John, now.” Sherlock ordered. “Inform her to meet us at Baker Street. Tell her to go to the grocery store for she’s going to make me dinner. That weird mash potato thing that I’ve witnessed her putting in the oven…It’s called Shepard’s…something…Don’t really matter what it’s called but I want it. Along with her roasted asparagus…Also, inform her that she is to make that hot strawberry dessert that she’ll put ice cream on. Tell her all this so that she knows what to buy…My cupboards is pretty much bare and my fridge as well as microwave is full of last week’s body parts.”

 “Sherlock! You can’t order Molly to make you food!” John told him, seeming to be insulted on Molly’s behalf.

“Why not?” Sherlock asked, before replying calmly. “She killed a man, John, for you. She must focus her mind on something else…something much more important…Mainly _me_. I have been horribly tortured…and even if I hadn’t been…Molly should focus on me anyway.”

“You are such an unbelievable sod! Honestly!” John growled, looking as if he wished to smack him…Gently, of course…for he had been tortured.

“Oh, please, you have called me much worse.” Sherlock replied with a careless wave of his hand. “And really, John, you should do whatever I ask you to do…Quickly and efficiently, without question. For I have been brutality tortured…and don’t I, a recently tortured man, deserve to have a homemade meal, created by the person of his choice? Or is it because I’m ‘that freak’ Sherlock Holmes so I don’t deserve comfort food…” Sherlock gave a couple of small tsk sounds before shaking his head sadly, “I thought better of you, John.”

“You know perfectly well that you are no freak!” John said with a heated glare his way. “You are such a manipulative bastard…My God! You are going to use the fact that you’ve been badly tortured for all its worth aren’t you?”

Sherlock simply gave him a look as if John was the main reason those ‘Books for Dummies’ had been created.

“Hell, yes! Of course I am!” Sherlock finally confirmed. “What would have been the point of surviving a brutal torture if one can’t use it for his own purposes to get what he wants? A blowtorch came **_this_** …” The world’s only consulting detective held up a thumb and finger inches apart while continuing, “close to my naughty bits, John! So I seriously believe that for a while I should have what I want. Though I know the only way I will ever feel better is to seek vengeance upon Moriarty’s brother and crush him like a black beetle until such time comes about, I should be allowed to order people about…”

“You normally do anyway…” John muttered dryly.

“Oh, before I forget, do text Mrs. Hudson for I want fresh biscuits with my tea in the morning.”

He almost felt like smiling warily as he watched John close his eyes and take some deep breathes…Yes, John, that’s right…Go on count to ten…Nice and slow…That’s good, now count one more time for good measure!

Sherlock knew, without any doubt, that John was more angry at Moriarty’s brother than with him…No matter how much he could annoy him…greatly it seemed…He wasn’t truly angry with him…Nope, though he was a bit pissed off that Sherlock was refusing to stay in the blasted hospital aka prison cell with smiley overly helpful people ready to tell him what he can and can’t do…Screw that!

John was simply a worried mother hen…

Sherlock knew he would prefer being called a rooster but a hen worked so much better.

Oh, John may be a good doctor, but he still wanted to hurt Moriarty’s brother for daring to hurt his best friend. Really, Sherlock may not understand people or nature but he understood that. Yet the thing is that Sherlock _was_ going to hurt the bastard back. Sherlock simply hoped that he did so before that mad man hurt his friends.

His sore hands clenched the hospital sheets, still eyeing John carefully as he waited ever so impatiently.

John finally opened his eyes and focused his attention completely upon him and Sherlock now knew for certain that he had won. John was going to do what he wanted…what he needed to do. Get him the hell out of here and back to Baker Street!

“FINE!” John began to say attempting to sound all stern and ‘Lord of the manor’…

Damn…Really? John was a soldier, surely he could do better…If he used that for his stern voice with his daughter she would get away with murder and of course, Sherlock would help her do it.

John continued, “I will get the damn forms for you to sign and then we can leave. I will even call Mycroft so you can get back to London faster—“

“OH! Do remind him that I’ve been brutally tortured!” Sherlock quickly cut in. John glared at him so very hotly that Sherlock was forced to shrug to show his indifference. Yet he found himself replying, “What? Don’t give me that look. With Mycroft, I have about a week…perhaps even two…Where I _own_ him. He will have to do everything I suggest, otherwise, I will tattle on his fat arse to Mummy and tell her that he’s being mean to me…Seriously, John, I have a small window here and must use it…Here, for example…”

Sherlock’s heavily bruised face softened and he took a deep shaky breath before he said softly, “Oh, hello, Mummy, so lovely of you to call…How am I? I’m fine though I have been through so much lately and it doesn’t help that Mycroft…No, I better not tell you what he said, for I don’t want you to become upset, so never mind…No…Please Mummy I can’t talk about it! Maybe It’s my fault anyway…Maybe I’m acting out for if that blowtorch had gone an inch to the left I’d never be able to give you grandchildren…I still have bad nightmares about the whole thing, so maybe I’m just being real sensitive as of late…Don’t…Don’t tell Mycroft…I just wish he’d stop teasing and being so bloody mean is all…No, Mummy, please…Just let me deal with it! I’ve been tortured, if I can handle that I’m certain that I can handle Mycroft being Mycroft…No…Please just forget I said anything…So, tell me, Mummy, how have you been?”

Sherlock suddenly flashed an evil smirk John’s way before asking in a normal tone, “So, what do you think? Should I push it for _three weeks_?”

With wide eyes, John shook his head in complete disbelief. “Jesus, Sherlock.”

“Anyway, while you get the forms and call Mycroft…make damn sure to call Molly!” Sherlock ordered once more.

For he wanted… ** _needed_** to see her. Even though he had been the one to be so savagely tortured he still wanted to see her again, make sure she was alright…For some odd reason that Sherlock couldn’t logically comprehend he wanted her near him…He wasn’t even sure he could use the excuse that it was to protect her from Moriarty’s brother…For even though he was concerned about that…He had a crazy feeling that to use that excuse would become nothing but a lie. He wanted to see her for completely selfish reasons ones that he dare not look too closely at.

He just…hopefully this was just a weak moment that would pass…for now he needed his pathologist.

“Right.” John muttered before pressing his lips together in a tight thin line. “I’ll get on that right away. I will also try to find a completely **_nice_** way to ask her to go to Baker Street and make you the dinner you wish for…I won’t remind her that you’ve been tortured…Though knowing you…It’s been days since you’ve eaten anything—“

“A stale sandwich three days ago.” Sherlock cut in.

John gave him a furious look. “You are damn well going to eat everything she places on your plate or I’m asking Mycroft to help me put itching powder in your socks and pants drawer!”

Sherlock wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Not that it mattered for John had already turned to walk to the door…Sherlock simply watched as John suddenly came to a stop and turned his face towards him…Sherlock had never seen it so hard and emotionless…Whatever thought he just had, hadn’t been a good one. He was so utterly still…Almost a statue…The only proof that he wasn’t a statue was in the eyes as well as the jaw that was slowly working…

It took a moment before he spoke and when he did there was a dangerous intensity that crept into his voice…So unlike the kind good doctor, more like a battle wary solder about to face another bloody battle…

“I want you to listen to me, Sherlock, and understand something. You and I both know that the blasted ‘game’ as you like to call it is on. That’s all fine and good. Trust me; I _will_ be right by your side through it all. I _will_ have your back but don’t you bloody dare…” John stopped before he took a deep breath, more than one, actually. When he spoke again it was filled with raw emotion. “Don’t you dare do what you did with Moriarty. Don’t you play me like you did when you faked your death—“

“I honestly don’t think I can pull it off again, John…I mean…maybe, sure…but still…” Sherlock began softly.

“Don’t! Just don’t, Sherlock! I am willing to _die_ for you…Without hesitation…I will always regard you as the best and the wisest man as well as greatest smartarse I have ever known and all I ask of you… _All I ask_! Is that you are willing to **_live_** for me…Don’t fake your death again and don’t you dare make your death a real one…”

Sherlock took a deep breath; he opened his mouth a couple of times before he finally found his voice. “I…I want to live, John, I do like life…Especially my life…I don’t want to fake my death again…I damn sure don’t want to leave…or die…I, um, I also want you to live as well…”

John gave a sharp nod, looking quickly away. “Then we understand each other. You and me, Sherlock, I promise that we are going to take this bastard down…together. Always together. Just don’t play me, we play him.”

With that John was gone, leaving Sherlock alone in the cold boring hospital room.

Together. Yes. Sherlock understood. He…Well, he would do his best not to disappoint his best friend…For John did deserve his best and he didn’t want to be too cruel to him…Not, again. He had thought John would have gotten a kick out of his greatest trick…His great practical joke…But his supposed death hadn’t been funny to John at all…

He would do his best not to be too cruel to John…though…Even Sherlock knew he could be a cruel bastard.

_“You always say such cruel things…Always…”_ Molly’s voice whispered in his head…There had been pure hurt and pain in her tone…

Sherlock put his hands up in front of his face, being careful of his extremely sore and swollen eye.

And Molly…Yet another person in his life that he didn’t _want_ to be cruel to…It just seemed to happen…Still he had tried to do better since he had come back after faking his death.

In his attempt not to be so cruel to her he had tried his hardest not to deduce that stupid ‘meat dagger’ of a man with whom she had been so willing to marry. A man, he had heard whispers, resembled him a little…Hell, the man had even knotted his scarf the way he did! Had dark hair and…none of that mattered, really…He had purposely turned a blind eye because he had no wish to hurt Molly. Though he had clearly noticed that the man seemed… _nice_ …quite a likeable fellow…Well, some people other than him, would think he was a likeable fellow…He seemed like a good man. A man who he had deduced, before he could stop himself, had an extremely ill and dying mum…He loved his mum greatly and did everything he could to make her happy…

Sherlock wasn’t sure why it bothered him but ‘meat dagger’ seemed like he could easily cherish Molly and do his best to make her happy…Maybe even treasure her as she deserved.

To be honest there at first he had looked for signs that his dear pathologist was being ill-used by the man…maybe even seriously abused. He had known that if he had witnessed any bruises upon her flesh…anything that he was not okay with…He would have become dangerous and removed ‘meat dagger’ permanently from his Molly’s life, instantly…

But…That never came about.

‘Meat dagger’ was not a cruel, extremely cold man and Sherlock knew his Molly deserved someone…Warm…Kind…Like herself…One who could do well in social situations and would not carelessly, thoughtlessly hurt her and others around her with sharp cruel words…

Sherlock removed his hands with a deep sigh and leaned back upon the pillows…Extremely thankful for the pain killers…

Really, he should be seriously cold and cruel towards his precious Molly…Push her out of his life but…he…he couldn’t. If John could be selfish enough to take a wife than what was so wrong with him being selfish too? No, not with the wife thing, of course, but with keeping Molly in his life where she belonged.

Also, if he pushed her out of his life now how in the hell would he be able to protect her and keep her safe? Even after he dealt with Moriarty’s brother there was always someone else out there to annoy him greatly and they would probably try to use John or his pathologist against him. Sentiment could be such an inefficient bitch sometimes!

When he had kept going to his mind palace to seek out Molly he had known that if he wasn’t careful she would become a weakness of his…but when was it said that Sherlock Holmes was always careful?

But perhaps she had always been a weakness, and he had simply missed it…

Molly…

No, he couldn’t push her out of his life…Though his brother would tell him that Sherlock would be better off…However, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t be. Never would he be better off without his pathologist.

Why? Really, what was it about her that made him seek her out for much needed comfort and strength while he had been tortured? Did he dare look too closely at that mystery?

Sherlock had instantly gone to her when he realized that he wasn’t going to escape the hellish torment that he was going through…That he was going to die and the last person he needed to see…was _her_ …his dear sweet pathologist…Perhaps there was something wrong with him…It wasn’t very logical…He shouldn’t _need_ anyone. Sherlock shouldn’t _need_ John as his friend, his best friend in fact…Yet, he did…

He shouldn’t _need_ his Molly…and he knew he bloody well did!

Sherlock closed his eyes. He had made Molly a promise to live… _For her_ …And he had lived because of that promise, he was certain of that fact.

Maybe…He was simply a selfish man. He never wanted Molly taken from his life…Oddly enough it wasn’t because she willingly gave him body parts…It would be so much easier if that was the reason.

Even if there wasn’t a present danger out there…and with his type of life, there would always be some type of danger out there…

It was just he couldn’t allow Molly to go somewhere else. She belonged in his mind palace…and more importantly she belonged in his life…

Molly was loyal and true. His steadfast anchor…In his mind palace she had helped him by being there…Always there. Instantly…All the while that damn bastard put his body through hell. It had all seemed so helpless…hopeless…

He hated being vulnerable! Hated it, hated it, and once more for good measure, _he hated it_!

Sod it all!

He could handle every bruise upon his flesh…Every burn…The ugly marks upon his sore skin…Sherlock could even handle the fact he had been beaten and his back whipped…and finally the needle in his arm to drain him of his blood…

He could handle the pain, the torture and the horrible endless torment of raw physical pain…

Because when it came right down to it, it wasn’t because he was superhuman, no, it was because Molly Hooper had been there. Yes, in his mind but she had felt and seemed real to him. She comforted him by simply being herself. She forced him to hold on to his sanity…on to his life. She made him remember to trust her…trust John…For he would be looking for him.

_“You will hold on! You will **not** hurt John…For you know he’s doing everything in his power to find you and help you. You will **not** let him become a failure in this! You will live! For your best friend…and you will bloody live for me as well!” _ Molly had said that…in his mind palace when he had needed to hear those words…

And John had been looking for him…There had been that trust within himself that told him that John would somehow preform a miracle. That it wasn’t just Sherlock who could do a miracle or two but so could Dr. John H. Watson. The terribly romantic doctor  just didn’t see them as miracles but surprisingly he did. Sherlock hadn’t even believed in miracles until John had entered his life…He hadn’t even believed in heroes…He still wasn’t sure they weren’t a complete myth but sometimes John made him doubt what had once been a firm belief.

Today, John had indeed rescued him. Had saved him once more and Molly had helped his best friend find him. In fact, Molly was the reason he had been rescued! For she had remembered some random cottage that Moriarty had pointed out once!

His dear pathologist…His Molly…His…His woman?

Oh, damn it all…Had he opened up a Pandora’s Box without meaning to? He hadn’t meant to…Really he didn’t…It was just with the torture and all…Now; he had all these damn meaningless feelings that shouldn’t be there when it came to his Molly. How did he ignore it without being cruel to his woman? OH GOD!! Did he just call Molly ‘his woman’ AGAIN while he thought to himself?

DAMN IT, he did! What the hell was wrong with him? He was better than this!

He needed to close that damn box once more…He didn’t need all these treacherous emotions he was completely unaccustomed to. Surely, he was much too logical and much too cold…as well as cruel…to have them. To feel this strange warmth when he thought about Molly…To have these thoughts of her smile and the gentle way she’d…No! Damn it! Seriously, he wanted to rage and take his frustration out on Molly for this damn weakness he seemed to have developed…Yet, he also would much rather prefer to rip his own heart out of his chest than to hurt her.

What was he to do?

Sherlock needed Molly. Always…

He hated being helpless…vulnerable and all these feelings that the aftermath of the torture seemed to awaken or at least made him sit up and take notice…

Really, what was he to do? He didn’t want to need Molly but he did…

It looked as if he was screwed. Seriously screwed.

At least he had vengeance upon Moriarty’s brother to look forward to.

With that Sherlock smiled happily and that was exactly how John found him when he reentered the room.

~*~END OF PART 4~*~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish to everyone for there encouragement and I hope you will continue to enjoy.

~*~And So Beats A Gentle Heart~*~

~*~PART 5~*~

_…said Holmes that evening, ‘it can only be an example of that temporary eclipse to which even the best balanced mind may be exposed. Such slips are common to all mortals…_

-The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

_‘God help us!’ said Holmes after a long silence. ‘Why does fate play such tricks with poor, helpless worms? I never hear of such a case as this that I do not think of Baxter’s words and say, “There but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.”’_

_-_ The Boscombe Valley Mystery by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

Really, Molly didn’t mind going to the grocery store and then going to Baker Street to fix Sherlock dinner. She thought it was kind of nice to be wanted and needed by him. He could have easily ordered John to get takeout but he hadn’t…It was almost as if he was telling her without words, of course, that he wanted her not just in his kitchen but in his life. Maybe even saying a rare ‘thank you’ as well…sometimes one had to look at Sherlock’s actions more than his words…maybe she was seeing too much into it…Yet, the thought he _wanted_ to see her in his flat making him dinner…it oddly made her feel happy. Where as if he ordered some other woman to fix him dinner and have it ready when he got home…They would probably make dinner with some extra arsenic thrown in or have the food thrown down in Sherlock’s lap. So in many ways he was also showing his trust in her as well…

Molly, however, would not be putting arsenic in his food…ever…no matter how angry he would likely make her in the future…Now, the food thrown down in Sherlock’s lap could one day happen. Not to day, of course.

Molly had happily informed John that she was extremely happy to make dinner for Sherlock…Mostly because he had asked…okay, ordered, but still…and she didn’t mind helping and taking care of her favorite consulting detective…also…She needed to be busy at the moment…For there were two memories wanting to do battle in her mind that at the present she honestly didn’t want to deal with…

There had been overwhelming relief in her heart when she heard what Sherlock wanted from her. John had stated exactly what he wanted and ended with… “I’m sorry that our friend is an annoying twat!”

As if Sherlock being an annoying twat was his fault…

In the end she swore to John that it was perfectly alright. She really didn’t mind, anyway why would she complain? Their poor dear Sherlock had been brutally tortured…

For some strange reason John had groaned as if he was in true agony…

“John! Are you okay?” Molly had asked him suddenly deeply concerned.

There had been a long silence before the good doctor answered, “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m simply considering banging my head against the nearest wall…The prick actually admitted to me that he was going to use the fact that he had been seriously tortured to—“

“Get what he wants?” Molly found herself cutting in knowingly, not at all surprised. “John, we rescued him but when we did we found him in an extremely vulnerable state…I doubt he is happy about that. Sure, Sherlock’s thankful as he can be that we found him and saved him…but that we found him _that_ way. Beaten…Looking almost broken and fragile…John, really he could have easily been a total prick about the whole thing and declared that he was getting himself out…and that we probably took time out for some coffee and seriously enjoyed the thought that he was savagely going through hell. He might have even snarled at us and said that we had always secretly wanted him to be tortured…He’s the legendary Sherlock Holmes, the one true genius in the room…if there is going to be rescuing going on he’s the one who will do it if he deems it worthy, not—“

This time John cut in, “Not the one who is rescued.” He sighed heavily before agreeing, “You’re right, of course, however he is being a real prick about all this…I fear that we are expected to wait on him hand and foot…”

“Perhaps.” Molly said carefully into the phone with a slight shrug. Her hand instantly tightened on her phone as she swallowed hard. “We nearly lost him, John.”

“I know.” John whispered back. Emotion embedded deeply within those two words.

“I-I can’t…I can’t get how we found him out of my head…”Molly slowly admitted, almost brokenly…She said it softly as if sharing a deep dark secret that she never wanted to be revealed.

“We got him back, Molly. Together we can all work towards making damn sure Moriarty’s damn brother _never_ gets his hands on him again.” There seemed to be some kind of cold fury, and hard determination in John’s tone.

Molly nodded, without saying a word, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see her or her response.

Amusement was suddenly in his tone as he continued, “You just nodded didn’t you?”

Molly felt her cheeks redden. “Y-Yes, I did.”

“Well, Sherlock wants you to cook for him and seeing that I have already given you his order. I will be seeing you at Baker Street then. You will probably be there before us…I will let Mrs. Hudson know you are coming over and to let you in.”

“Thanks…Um, John?” Molly asked hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“Will he be alright?”

“He’s fine, Molly…At least…he’ll pretend to be for a while. He’s angry with Moriarty’s brother and how he was tricked…Sherlock’s…a bit… _emotional_ …and we both know how he doesn’t like emotions all that well…But he’s Sherlock and being Sherlock he’s going to be just fine. He has to be.”

“You’re right he doesn’t like emotions very well, especially his own.” Molly sighed. Knowing just how true that really was…Sherlock would most likely be taking his dislike of his emotions out on them, his friends.

They both finished the call and Molly had quickly made a list of what she needed. She lovingly petted Toby goodbye, ignoring his glare for he would have liked more attention…and some of that tuna for the sandwich she had been about to make for herself…but quickly put back into the fridge…Toby’s glare really told her how he felt about that!

So pretty much Molly was running out the door as she was putting on her coat, happy to be able to help Sherlock…

Molly ended up over at Baker Street long before Sherlock and John. Molly spent time cleaning so she could prepare the meal Sherlock had asked for. She had thankfully found Mrs. Hudson willing and quite delighted to lend her any certain pan or dish she might need. They had chatted for a bit before Mrs. Hudson excused herself for she was expecting Mrs. Turner to visit…but if Molly needed anything…anything at all…to simply knock upon her door and she’d love to help.

Mrs. Hudson couldn’t help but inform Molly that even though she was _not_ the housekeeper that she had happily cleaned somethings and that her dear Sherlock might end up throwing a tantrum for she had dusted. Oh, the horror! Anyway, it seemed that Sherlock hated that…the dusting…not the horror.

The dust supposedly told the great consulting detective many things in his fine art of deduction…Dust was a science or something silly, she told Molly. There was a chance he had even written a paper on the subject and if he had, Mrs. Hudson had no interest in reading it. All she saw was dust that needed to go away.

For some strange reason Mrs. Hudson also gleefully informed her that she had changed Sherlock’s bedsheets with nice, fresh cotton…in a gentle detergent to not to bother his skin…and Molly was to tell Sherlock that he would indeed have some nice, warm fresh biscuits with his tea in the morning.

Okay. Sure. Fine. It looked like Molly was going to be the messenger…Sure, because she obviously looked like that…Sherlock’s personal messenger…Yet, surely Sherlock would notice what Mrs. Hudson had done and…see her at some point. Probably as soon as she was done with visiting with Mrs. Turner…unless…visiting meant…having a girl’s night and getting wild and crazy…

Well, there _had_ been a mischievous and excited sparkle in the older woman’s eyes.

Anyway, it took some time with all the chopping and preparing Sherlock’s dinner. Soon enough however as she was putting a couple of dishes into the oven she heard a thundering like noise down stairs and then Sherlock loudly declaring, “I’m _not_ a bloody invalid, John! Leave me be!”

Molly moved quickly out of the kitchen and towards the opened door that lead into Sherlock’s flat.

“You just fell, Sherlock! I told you that you needed to stay in that hospital and yet you just had to be an idiot, didn’t you? You look as if you need help so please let me help you.” John attempted to calm him yet one could tell he was a bit frustrated with his stubborn best friend.

“I don’t care what I look like, John! I’m fine! Also, I didn’t fall; you, the stupid door and the bloody stairs were in the way!” Sherlock growled darkly, looking just as frustrated.

Molly came to a sudden stop. Her mighty dear Sherlock still looked like an injured soul in great need…Hurting…A wounded animal ready to attack because of the pain he was in…

She found herself speaking carefully drawing both men’s attention. “You should be happy that Sherlock is indeed fine, John. Otherwise he could be ordering you to carry him up these old stairs much like a brand new blushing bride.”

She smiled softly at them wondering how Sherlock would take her teasing.

John snorted, “Right. Just what I would need! More talk about Sherlock and mine’s relationship and I’m quite sure I’d have to explain to Mrs. Hudson once _again_ that I’m **_not_** gay!”

Sherlock’s expression was suddenly filled with light amusement as he gifted Molly a small quick smile before turning his head to look at John. “Well…Now that I think about it…I really wouldn’t mind it if you gave me a piggy back ride.”

John eyed him truly stunned before shaking his head. “Oh, no, mate, not happening! Never, even if you didn’t have sores on your body that you want to be careful with these next few days.”

“You use to be a man of adventure, John…” Sherlock stated sadly as if bemoaning lost days gone by.

“Piss off.” John shot at him.

John watched as Molly walked down to where they were. She placed a very gentle hand upon Sherlock’s arm, not wanting to accidently bring him pain but still needing to touch him. To know in some way that everything was going to be okay.

“Welcome home, Sherlock.” Molly told him softly.

Sherlock’s eyes never left hers as he briefly touched her hand with kind strong fingers. He didn’t answer. He simply began to move slowly up the stairs. Sherlock attempted to move as if each step wasn’t in some way a bit painful and sore but Molly and John knew better. Yet all they could do was simply be there for him…Move with him slowly. Molly at his side as Sherlock’s hand carefully used the banister for support. John was behind them, watching Sherlock with an eager alertness…a great friend waiting…for that ‘just in case’ moment when his skills as a brilliant doctor might be needed.

Sherlock shot Molly several glances her way before asking curiously, “So…Molly…Have you…ever…given a grown man a piggy back ride?”

Molly tried not to laugh before she attempted to say with a straight face, “Sorry, but I made a solemn vow to my grandmother upon her deathbed that I would give my future husband and _only_ my future husband piggy back rides.”

Both men stopped and stared at her in stunned surprise before Sherlock began to laugh out loud as John chuckled softly.

“Then I hope you never marry a fatty, Molly!” Sherlock declared joyously.

Molly simply smiled…

They entered the main room and a look of great annoyance flashed across the legendary consulting detective’s face.

“Mrs. Hudson has dusted…” Sherlock muttered darkly.  

“Well, she said it really needed to go away.” Molly explained hoping she wasn’t about to experience a massive blow up…in hoping to please him she quickly said, “She also put some clean sheets on your bed.”

“I don’t mind that, in fact, she should make herself useful but _my dust_ is important and it’s _mine_ …it should be left alone!” Sherlock sounded highly annoyed.

“Don’t worry.” John quickly attempted to sooth him, “Your dust will come back to you…It always does.”

“Dust is an extremely important part of my filing system!” Sherlock told his best friend.

“And as I said your dust will return to you.” John said quite calmly…so calmly that it seemed to annoy Sherlock even more.

“It’s not enough that I’ve been brutally tortured but now my dust is gone! Oh, how wicked fate can be towards helpless worms…” Sherlock grimly stated as if he was uncertain to which was worse…the torture or the fact his dust was now gone.

Molly attempted to hide a smile as she watched John roll his eyes and give his best friend a long suffering look.

Molly finally cleared her throat as she shifted upon her feet before uncertainly offering, “I have some dust at my flat…if…if you want you can come by and…take my dust…that is if you would like…whenever or…or…well you can have it.”

Sherlock pondered her words quite seriously before asking, as if it was the most important question mankind had ever asked… “How old is your dust?”

“W-Well…some of it isn’t all that old really but on top of my book cases and other places that I usually have to use a step stool to get to…um…it’s been _years_.”

Sherlock nodded, “I’ll take it. It’s now mine so don’t you dare touch it.”

“Okay.”

He moved away from them and looked as if he was heading towards his bedroom yet stopped abruptly at his bathroom door before looking over his shoulder to ask, “Molly, how long until my food is ready?”

Sherlock looked so suddenly tired that Molly’s heart could help but go out to him. She continued to watch his face as a look of great annoyance flashed across his face before all expression left it completely. Now a hard cold mask…

If only Sherlock knew that all that did was make Molly wish to touch him, to comfort him somehow…That mask was just that…a mask.

It may look hard and uncaring but there was still a bruised hurting man behind it. Oh, how Sherlock would hate knowing that at the moment no matter what he did or what mask he hid behind he’d still look…human. A fragile, hurting yet never quite broken human.

Sherlock didn’t respond simply opened the bathroom door, entered, and shut the door quietly behind him.

Molly glanced over at John. The good doctor returned her look with a small shrug.

“Would you like some tea?” She kindly asked. Honestly wishing that she could help take away the signs of worry and concern upon her friend’s kind face. Not realizing that there was also worry and concern was also mirrored on her own face.

John heaved a sigh before saying, “To be honest, I could use something a tad bit stronger.”

Molly smiled in understanding. “I noticed Sherlock keeps your favorite brand of beer in the far back of his fridge.”

A brief flash of pleasant surprise crossed John’s face. “He does? Oh, well yeah, I’d like that. Thanks.”

Molly continued to smile as she moved into the kitchen to receive the beer from the fridge to bring back to him.

“It’s always the little things that Sherlock does that shows his true heart.” Molly softly observed.

“True.” John stated opening the can and taking a satisfying drink.

However, John must of heard something that he damn sure didn’t like as he quickly sat his beer down and moved at a fast pace towards the bathroom door to yell angrily, “Sherlock! I hear water running at full blast! I told you a careful sponge bath for a day or so until some of your more serious wounds have healed, you bloody wanker! You even have some stitches that I want you to be careful with! You hear me? You…you…”

“Oh, do shut up, John!” Sherlock shouted right back.

“I will kick this door down! Don’t you dare think that I won’t!” John told Sherlock, looking quite determined and glaring hotly at the door that dared to separate the two best friends.

The door, however, opened an inch to reveal a glaring Sherlock. “My dear annoying as hell doctor, I do wish you would stop being a prick!”

“ _I’m_ being a prick!? **_Me!?_** ” John found himself asking, looking exasperated.

“Yes, John, you are!” Sherlock confirmed. “I’m not taking a bath or a shower, even though I wouldn’t mind one. I do listen to you. Sometimes and there have been times I wish that I could put you on mute, however that button seems to be broken when it comes to you! Now, I simply want to fill this room with hot steam and enjoy it for a short time. So, now you know what I’m doing…you can bloody leave me alone!”

Sherlock slammed the door before opening it once more. “Molly. Come into the loo with me, I must talk to you.”

With that he closed the door once more. This time it stayed closed. Except once could clearly hear Sherlock shout, “Please! I meant to say ‘please’…God, what the hell is taking so long? What happened did you fall into a bottomless hole on the way to the loo?”

John turned his head and looked at Molly. She was certain her eyes were enormous as John slowly moved away from the door to return to his cold beer. He picked it up before asking calmly, “How many cans are left in the fridge?”

“Um…five.” Molly informed him. “I also noticed a full bottle of brandy and a half a bottle of scotch…I noticed them when I was cleaning the kitchen to make Sherlock his meal.”

John nodded slowly before muttering, “Good…that’s _real_ good.”

“Molly! Get in here!”

She gave John a timid smile…in return John told her…”Well, sadly, you better go check on what his highness wants from you.”

It wasn’t until she started moving towards the door that she vaguely noticed John toasting her with his beer as he muttered, “Good luck.”

Seeing that Sherlock wanted her in the bathroom with him, Molly really didn’t bother to knock though she was highly tempted. Molly even had her knuckles at the ready to knock until Sherlock shouted once more…forcing her to quickly enter the room.

And when she did…Good heavens!

She found Sherlock Holmes, the man she loved with all her heart…without a stitch of clothes on.

He didn’t even attempt to cover himself with a towel…

~*~END OF PART 5~*~


	6. Chapter 6

~*~And So Beats A Gentle Heart~*~

~*~PART 6~*~

_Again and again I had registered a vow that I should deliver my soul upon the subject; but there was that in the cool, nonchalant air of my companion which made him the last man whom one would care to take anything approaching to a liberty._

-The Sign of Four by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

 

Sherlock watched truly relieved when Molly _finally_ entered the steam filled room. What had she taken a trip to China and stopped to look at a corpse? A quick deduction told him, ‘no’…and John’s voice told him to stop being an impatient sod…John’s voice could kindly shove off…or it doesn’t need to be kind at all, just shove off!

Molly closed the door and for some strange reason she looked quite surprised. Why? She knew he was in here…Women; even Molly were an unsolvable puzzle, a puzzle not even he could solve. Not that he ever really had a desire to…except for the woman standing before him…Molly… _She was different_ …quite important to him…Perhaps more?

He pushed that disturbing thought as well as the question off to the side before he decided to get the much needed conversation rolling.

“So, Molly…with Moriarty’s brother causing havoc and quite seriously becoming a pain…we must…well, okay, _you_ are going to have to be extra careful. Perhaps classes in self-defense would not be amiss. I might even have Mary show you some things…and as much as if pains me to admit, Mycroft knows some interesting and dangerous people who at his say so could teach you to take down two to three large stupid men without you so much breaking a nail. Not that your nails are long, you keep them short and there are signs that you use to bite them as a child and young adult.”

He blinked not expecting to make such a sudden deduction. Molly, however, simply accepted his words…use to his deductions. Sherlock shook his head and gave a shrug before continuing, “Anyway, we will need to come up with a schedule and maybe a code. Codes can be quite fun! So that is something to look forward to…All right, I simply must get back on track…The schedule will be of times when we need to call or text one another. The call at that set time must always be answered. No matter what.”

Molly nodded yet for some strange reason she kept looking away from him and she had the sweetest and most lovely blush upon her cheeks… It made Sherlock want to reach out and…and… _do_ something that he wasn’t normally known to do…unless he _had_ to for a case, however this was not a case that was before him. No, it was his dear Molly instead.

“O-Okay…” Molly agreed softly. “Um, if you think that’s for the best then sure.”

She peeked at him with even deeper blush upon her face. Even her breathing seemed a bit deeper and Sherlock highly suspected that it wasn’t the hot steam in the room that was causing her reaction. No, it was him. He would have smirked if she hadn’t looked so…so beautiful and she looked tired…the word scared floated before him, but he had an odd feeling it wasn’t for herself that she was afraid but for himself. He had nearly died and it would not have been a fake death…No coming back from that.

Also, her eyes seemed haunted at moments…

She had killed a man…saving his best friend…He may not understand people but he understood enough. He knew his dear Molly would not be sleeping tonight and that she was better off here taking care of him than off in her lonely flat crying.

Sherlock swallowed hard before he looked away.

“Yes, Molly, I do indeed think it for the best. Jim Moriarty may not have known just how important you are or how special but…”

 _‘I will burn the **heart** out of you…’_ His true nemesis words echoed in Sherlock’s head. They were words from the past but they still held power especially knowing that Moriarty had a crazy arse of a brother wanting…hell he probably thought he _needed_ to avenge his brother’s death. The mad man did blame him.

Sherlock swallowed hard before looking away, not wanting to meet Molly’s thoughtful eyes. In sudden annoyance he rubbed his dark curls quite violent and growled before continuing harshly, “Moriarty’s brother is something different!”

Could this insane man succeed in ‘burning the heart out of him’? Could this man win where his genius and delightfully evil brother had failed?

That thought bothered him…the heart…Molly? His Molly?

Bugger it! Seriously, the thoughts that ran through his head! They seemed to haunt him as of late. He wanted… _needed_ …to protect her. He knew logically that Mycroft’s men would be around watching and he would even have his homeless network be on alert. Yet that didn’t mean that there couldn’t be problems.

“I understand.” Molly said softly and Sherlock jerked his face back towards hers finally looking her in the eye.

“Do _you_?” Sherlock questioned. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he understood! So how could she? What if she truly did? What if she knew something he was still trying desperately to figure out? That truly confounded the great consulting detective. He felt whatever it was held great importance, yet here he was still bumbling along in an unfamiliar dark room. Normally his eyes could adjust to the darkness around him with ease but this…

This…Damn it all, he didn’t enjoy feeling like _this_! Honestly, he wasn’t normally so confused. For some reason things as of late seemed totally out of place and completely illogical. It left him feeling lost and bewildered…

Molly looked just as confused and bewildered for a second before she gave him a beautifully honest smile.

“Sometimes…” Molly decided to confess, “I would like to wrap you up in Bubble Wrap and lock you in a room somewhere to keep you from being stabbed…shot…or like that time you were seriously beat up by a gang of roughens all because a certain awful man didn’t want you to interfere with his wedding plans to some rich heiress…or as some tabloids like to call her a rich spoiled harlot…”

“Certain awful—Oh! Right… _him_ …Nasty man, he murdered his first wife and was part of a major human trafficking organization…Some of those young girls…Horrid business. The ‘spoiled harlot’ that you speak of had a rich and well connected family…Cousins to some old royal family or some stupid nonsense. Personally, I didn’t like that silly brat and for a moment thought she deserved the bastard, who I’m sure after their honeymoon would have been tossed her out to sea in a so-called ‘accident’. However the family wanted proof of the man’s villainous ways as well as the human trafficking…Which I did indeed find.” At those last words Sherlock felt amusement soften the edge of his lips as he remembered that case. He almost gave a silent like laugh as he remembered how John had not been happy that he had been forced to learn about Chinese pottery, so he could pretend to sell the bastard his second obsession.

After a polite moment of silence he finally continued with interest, “So, Bubble Wrap, hmmm?”

“Well…” Molly glanced away with a quick lovely smile. “Who doesn’t like Bubble Wrap?”

“True, how can one look at Bubble Wrap and not want to pop all those bubbles?” Sherlock questioned in truly great amusement before he suddenly went seriously cold. He was at times like a broken thermostat. “Seriously, Molly, while Moriarty’s damn brother is out there…I need you to be careful.”

“Sherlock, I promise that I will do my very best to be careful.” Molly informed him softly. Still trying not to stare at Sherlock’s raw and painful looking skin or try to imagine it without the bruises and the wounds…What would it be like to touch the skin when it wasn’t hurting? Would he flinch away?

Nor could she stare at the lovely parts that the complete bastard had thankfully left alone even if a part of her wanted to stare…She had heard it wasn’t nice to stare and she always _tried_ to be nice. Honest! Nope, no staring…Nothing to see here…Move along….

Especially that certain part that declared itself quite firmly that Sherlock Holmes was indeed a member of the _male species_ …She gave it a quick peek and felt her cheeks redden even more. It was a shame that he never used it…Maybe it was broken…Um, nope…it didn’t seem to be, for even if Sherlock seemed unaware of that she was trying desperately _not_ to peek and was a bit bothered by the member…Damn it all, she could have sworn the certain item in question twitched and nodded ‘hello’ at her.

“I want you to do more than your best, Molly!” Sherlock snapped at her with a cold edge to his voice, forcing her to blink in surprise before she willingly met his sharply intelligent gray eyes.

“Sherlock…All I can do is _try_! Just as I tried to rescue you…Though I understand your worry…I mean concern…I mean…anyway…Sherlock, you don’t need to be concerned for I’m quite certain that he won’t attempt to do anything to me to get to you for I’m really not all that im—“

Her words were quickly cut off as Sherlock moved much closer to her and his strong and sure fingers closed around her delicate wrist. Molly breathed in sharply as her heart sped up, beating so damn fast that it almost felt as if it was attempting to fly out of her chest.

“Molly, my dear Molly, if you dare tell me that you are not all that important I will become quite put out with you and in my anger I might say some ungentlemanly things…things you might slap me for and John will judge me harshly for…However, please note that whatever little domestic we have I shall win it.”

He seemed so close, so very close…Towering over her, Molly had to wonder where the fragile tortured man had gone…For at this moment…There was nothing fragile at all about Sherlock Holmes. This was a man the criminal element feared…This was the man that sought out the truth no matter what the cost…and this was the man she felt the most safest with…

Sherlock continued voice a bit hard and tense… “If Moriarty’s brother has any intelligence at all…and there is a chance there is something going on in that insane head of his! It would not be all that difficult to find out that you helped me, Molly. When I needed you the most…That I could put my trust and faith in you…That alone tells others just how important you are…The fact that you helped me take down his brother. You, Molly Hooper, were a major part of the whole horrid affair and how I came out the winner. Plus, you are still an important part of my life and I have faith that fighting him with you around I can take him down as well. Now don’t get use to me saying this to you but you will always be important to me so don’t you dare sale yourself short. I won’t put up with it. Ever. Do you understand me?”

There was such honesty in his words that for some reason she felt slightly embarrassed. She gave him a nod of understanding before she began to have her say, “But he is more likely to hurt John…”

“To piss me off?” For some reason Sherlock pulled back slightly to smile down at her as he guessed what else she was saying. “To make me pay? Hurt John to punish me for his brother’s suicide? Sure, why not? But, Molly, you need to realize something about my best friend. He enjoys and lives for danger. He honestly loves the battlefield. Once a good soldier always a good soldier. He damn sure isn’t going to go quietly into the night nor will Mary let anything happen to him. Trust me; the man is so well protected…He is probably safer than money in the bank. I’ll let you in on something…John will be busy thinking that he’s keeping a sharp watchful eye on me when in fact, I’m keeping my eyes also on him. With Mary and I, he’s safe enough…You however don’t have a killer assassin sleeping with you…so…”

“If he does come after me, Sherlock, I can handle it!” Molly proclaimed, trying to desperately to be brave. To prove just how brave she could be she actually eyed him slowly up and down. His body looked so beaten…so raw…So very sore…Yet he looked so very strong at the same time.

To think the man she loved had been brutally tortured. It wasn’t right…In fact, it was so wrong on so many levels…

She felt him gently squeeze her wrist.

“I know…” Sherlock almost whispered as if he was admitting something profound and if Molly hadn’t known better she could have sworn his voice held a sweet velvet seduction to it. “And I like that you can indeed handle… _anything_ …that comes your way. Thank you by the way for getting me out.”

“M-My pleasure,” A brief flash of horror crossed Molly’s lovely face. “I-I don’t mean _pleasure_ exactly b-but.”

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean.” Sherlock told her with a slight smile. His normally cold eyes seemed quite warm with a beautiful twinkle within their depths. He almost looked close to silently laughing with amusement.

“Again… _thank you_ , Molly Hooper.”

Damn it all, Sherlock’s voice alone was a sinful, sweet and gentle caress. He should be seriously outlawed. Really, he should…

He leaned forward and placed a lovely chaste kiss upon her left cheek. Soft and light was the sweet chaste kiss yet oddly enough full of great meaning especially coming from him.

“Sherlock?” Molly questioned breathlessly for he still held her wrist…Still leaned in close so their bodies were nearly, teasingly touching…Not quite touching but oh so close…

“Hmm?” He responded his mind now seemed elsewhere.

Goodness! It had to be Molly’s wild imagination but she could have sworn he was eyeing her lips as if…as if he was perhaps…

But no…

Sherlock Holmes, the great consulting detective and more importantly the man she loved would never kiss her or even want to…Right?

“Um…You do realize that you are naked, yes?” Molly asked, hating to bring up this, what to most might seem to be quite silly, fact but…seriously, the man was naked!

Sherlock, her Sherlock, was naked…

Might as well put a candy addict in front of a candy store on a day of a fast…

So what if that beautiful body of his had been sadly tortured? That body was still Sherlock. Her dear, wonderful Sherlock who always kept life interesting.

“So?” You have seen countless naked men.” Sherlock told her carelessly.

“Are you calling me a whore?” Molly questioned him; wondering if now would be a good time to become seriously offended.

Sherlock blinked and leaned back in shock even letting go of her wrist. “What?! No, of course not!”

She eyed his face carefully feeling suddenly mischievous for she had actually known what he had meant but it was still fun to catch him off guard.

“Really?” She found herself saying, “Sounds like to me you are calling me a whore.”

Sherlock began quickly and a bit wide-eyed. “No-No, I meant you are a _doctor_! So you have seen countless naked…Oh, wait…You are pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

“Am I?” Molly asked in a soft teasing manner before continuing suddenly serious… “The truth of the manner is that I see countless naked _dead_ men, Sherlock and happily you are very much alive.”

Sherlock nodded eyeing her thoughtfully before he acknowledged, “Thanks to you.”

“Well…John and Mary helped…More than helped, really.” Molly told him in an attempted to place the credit where she honestly felt it was due.

Sherlock gave her a light snort.

He studied Molly closely. His dear sweet Molly. Here in the steam filled room…Something moved within Sherlock’s mind and quite possibly his heart. She looked so damn beautiful and for a man who could normally and easily ignore beautiful women…Well, Molly was different. Always different.

For some strange odd reason she had long ago given him her unconditional loyalty and friendship…and as illogical as it may be he was certain she had given him her love as well.

He had a hard time understanding it yet he found that maybe he didn’t want to understand it. Maybe it was one of life’s great mysteries that were never meant to be solved.

“You even saved John’s life and…well…you know…”

_Taking another’s life to keep John alive…_

Those words weren’t spoken out loud but they still hung in the air around them.

Molly quietly studied him. The teasing and mischievous light in her eyes now long gone to be replaced with some unspoken great pain.

“I don’t like guns.” Molly told him, her tone full of raw emotion…So raw in fact that something stirred within Sherlock’s mind…A painful suspicion. He decided to ignore it, for he had no proof.

“Still, Molly, thank—“ His words were abruptly cut off as Molly’s fingertips pressed themselves suddenly to his lips.

“Don’t Sherlock! God, please…Just don’t! Don’t ever thank me for taking another man’s life…Please, never that… _please_ …”

Sherlock watched in horror as her brown eyes flooded with tears making them glitter like crushed gems.

Molly slowly removed her fingertips from his lips before saying softly with deep gasps in her breathing as if she was trying to desperately hold herself together.

“I-I really hate guns…hate them…the damage they can do and the lives that they can easily take…Too easily…” She found herself saying…

A long intense moment passed before Sherlock said carefully, almost cautiously, “Saving John wasn’t the first time a gun you were holding took a life…”

Molly inhaled a sharp breath as if Sherlock had surprisingly whipped out a pistol and shot her. She gave him a short and very slight nod before responding…admitting… “I-I’ve killed before, Sherlock…I’m…I’m a murderer…”

What Sherlock did next stunned the hell out of her…

(End of Part 6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that was mean of me...
> 
> Still I do hope you enjoyed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big and lovely thank you for all who commented and hit the kudos! You really are wonderful.
> 
> Now many said that you wanted a kiss...Well...I have plans...
> 
> Hope you enjoy...
> 
> Oh, and there is sensitive heartbreaking subject manner ahead, please note I in no way meant to offend.

~*~And So Beats A Gentle Heart~*~

~*~PART 7~*~

_‘…Should I ever marry, Watson, I should hope to inspire in my wife some feeling which would prevent her from being walked off by a housekeeper when my corpse was lying within a few yards of her.’_

_-_ The Valley of Fear by Arthur Conan Doyle

_I do not think I have ever seen such deadly paleness in a woman’s face. Her lips, too, were bloodless, but her eyes were flushed with crying._

-The Beryl Coronet by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

Sherlock laughed…

Of course, it was nearly soundless. A sharp exhale of disbelief that seemed endless…perhaps even more than that…It was quite hard to tell to be honest, but it was still a laugh nonetheless.

This moment could have easily been termed by John as another ‘not good’…but _really_? **_Seriously?_** Molly Hooper a _murderer_?

The word ‘murderer’ sounded like a blatant and obvious lie when put towards his dear sweet Molly. It was a title that in no way belonged to her. It was bollocks, really.

Sherlock knew damn well that she wasn’t yet she honestly believed it. So that told him that there was a story from her past there. She felt she honestly had a good reason for believing this…

But really… _Come on_ …

Yet, the look upon Molly’s pale face…Broke his heart, and he knew he had one, he simply did his best to hide his heart…It had always been easy….Too easy…sadly, as of late, with those the closest to him, he wasn’t hiding it as well as he’d have liked.

Sherlock also knew instantly that Molly hadn’t taken his laughter very well. She looked completely stunned and now…well…devastated…as well as highly ashamed…She honestly looked for a brief second as if she was extremely raw with hurt…as well as grieved with guilt.

Sherlock had once shot a man in the head and felt… _nothing_ …

Molly shot a man to save John’s life and she felt a kaleidoscope of powerful human emotions that Sherlock didn’t understand or couldn’t understand. He knew he was different and remarkable in his uniqueness but there were times he wished he could understand…people…and their emotions better…emotions could be such a horrid weakness…He knew that and accepted that yet…there was times…like now, if he understood better then he could perhaps help Molly…

And also finding out that this wasn’t the first time she had taken a life…He could tell it still traumatized her greatly…

For once Sherlock actually wanted to comfort someone. This someone is quite important to him, dear to him, in fact. Yet sadly, he was complete rubbish at this sort of thing. It would, however, be easier to distance himself emotionally from her…Yet, he found that he couldn’t do that. Never that. He wouldn’t do that. He was simply a brilliant man who could never accept the easy way or take the less of a challenge kind of life. He would never take the road more traveled, the road less dangerous…

There was a reason he walked on the side of the angels…It was harder for a man like him to do so…More of a challenge really…

And the things he was feeling at his moment…

Scared him to be honest and Sherlock Holmes didn’t like being scared…

As he was thinking this, Molly turned around and her hand on the doorknob…

Sherlock knew suddenly that she was going to leave and the damage would destroy something within himself…Destroy something they had. He knew he had to keep her in the room with him, keep her near…He needed her to stay.

Sherlock moved quickly. So very quickly some people like John would think it was almost supernatural, for he had moved with such incredible speed…also he honestly didn’t care that he still wore no clothes, he seized her by the shoulders with his strong hands and turned her around to face him once more…He carefully trapped her body against the wooden door and his own lean body…Keeping her there with his iron strength.

Molly gasped in surprise, going perfectly still, for she had not expected such a move from him.

Sherlock’s palms quickly moved to tenderly cup her face.

“Molly…Trust me, I’m not laughing at you or even at your obvious pain…No, it’s the actual thought of _you_ as a murderer…and I’ve known many murderers, hell, I too am one. Shot a man in the head and felt _nothing_ …You…Well, you shot a man to save John’s life and now you are feeling so many emotions over a man that I doubt is really worth it. He was working for Moriarty’s brother and may have even worked for the man himself…Even knowing he could be Satan’s spawn you are still hurting and drowning in these painful emotions…and now you tell me that you’ve killed before…and knowing you as I do, I’m quite certain that you had a reason…”

Molly swallowed hard before taking a shaky breath.

“Y-You…you shot someone?” She questioned unable to stop her tears from falling.

Sherlock tenderly wiped her tears away with his thumbs as he felt himself nod.

“I did,” He confirmed in a low soft voice. “There was no chance of even denying it or hiding it. I killed the horrid excuse for a human being right in front of John, Mycroft’s men and even my brother witnessed it from the helicopter that he was flying…I didn’t even attempted to stop my actions. I took the gun in my hand knowing exactly what I was going to do…and I did it. Shot him and I honestly think if I had the second chance…I would still do the exact same thing…well…maybe I wouldn’t take John…but then I wouldn’t have had the gun…so…anyway I still I think I wouldn’t have found a way to keep him from—not that it matters…”

Molly reached up and with infinite tenderness she softly touched the back of his hands, the same warm strong hands that held her face so carefully…almost… _lovingly_?

“You had a reason.” She whispered loudly and with great certainty.

A corner of Sherlock’s lip lifted before he moved to quickly kiss her forehead. He then rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes almost in relief…Her belief in him overwhelmed him at times…

“And…If I had no reason for what I did?” He questioned softly…Wondering what her answer would be.

“You did, I know you did…” Molly answered back just as softly.

After what seemed like a long intense moment he asked, “What if the reason is simply I hated the man?”

“Then you lied.” Molly informed him with no malice but with a gentle understanding…a loving acceptance…

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes to pull back slightly so he could look at her. When he was searching her wet jewel like caring eyes…eyes that held no judgment. She continued, “If you had no reason and yet you felt nothing…Sherlock, hatred can indeed be quite a powerful reason yet it is also a powerful emotion…So, I’m thinking that you had a bloody good reason.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure what to say so he said nothing. What could he say? If he wasn’t careful an emotion he was unfamiliar with would rise up and take control…Her acceptance…His dear sweet Molly’s acceptance…He could feel it…She still… _cared_ for him and about him even if he had taken another man’s life…

His hands trembled and he knew Molly could feel it and he wondered if his own eyes…were betraying him…Damn him, were his eyes always this moist? Did she see how much her acceptance meant to him?

“You had a damn good bloody reason.” Molly repeated. “Sure, your hatred for this man must have been strong…Maybe he did things that you found unforgiveable…But I believe that there is much more than what you are telling me…”

Oh, those sweet beautiful dark eyes of Molly’s…They studied him as if his own eyes were under her microscope…Her eyes at the moment seemed to see everything, much like his normally did…

He had a sudden sharp realization that she was a perfectly clean and clear glass window that allows the light to come into his normally dark and dastardly world.

“You did it to save John in some way, didn’t you?” Molly asked yet it sounded more like a certainty than a real question.

Sherlock gave a slight nod before he titled his head to ask, “And earlier you shot a man to save John as well…Tell me, Molly are we such horrible worthless worms?”

Molly blinked at him, her hands still on top his own, holding on to them as if they were a much needed lifeline.

“You’re not…” She breathed.

“Neither are you. We both had our reasons…for good or bad…We have both killed and Molly, I’ll sleep easily tonight however I know you…and you won’t, will you? You’ll sob when you are alone in that darken bedroom and never once drift off to sleep. You’ll think about it and allow it to haunt you and break your heart over and over again…I wish…I don’t want that to happen but I know it will and I don’t like it.”

Molly closed her eyes; new tears escaped and ran down her red cheeks.

“Sometimes, Sherlock, I wish…”

“Hmm?”

“I could be more like you…” She admitted almost sadly. “Things happen to you all the time and you seem to simply get over it so quickly and almost so effortlessly…”

“Or maybe I’m simply real good at faking it. Maybe it’s not all effortlessly…Maybe I don’t get over things as quickly as I try to make others believe…” Sherlock suggested to her.

Molly sighed before saying, “I’m not all that sure that I believe that…”

“Tell me…about the man you killed…that first time” Sherlock ordered as he decided to change the subject back to something he felt was important. He kept his voice low and firm.

 Molly suddenly squeezed her eyes tight and attempted to shake her head yet Sherlock’s hands held her face in a completely unmovable fashion. He even leaned more of his body weight against her. Not to hurt her or even intimidate her…No he wasn’t attempting to bully her…He simply wanted to make certain that she knew he was there.

_There for her_.

That he, Sherlock Holmes, cared. He wouldn’t judge her. He would accept her as she did him. In his own way, a way that he was a bit unfamiliar with, he was _trying_ desperately to comfort her. Even if he really wasn’t sure how, for to be honest it was a true mystery to him. It was more of a puzzle to him than a certainty. He wanted to try...He wanted to succeed in giving her the much need comfort.

He wanted to keep her from falling apart yet he wanted her to know, to trust him enough that if she did fall apart…He’d be there.

He wondered unknowingly if she had ever shared that experience so many years ago…and he knew it had to have been _years_. How long had she been silent about it? Her pain? Her heartbreak? Maybe…it had been too long. Perhaps she needed to talk about it and although he had a bloody hard time _sharing_ his own stupid and sometimes illogical feelings…It by no means meant that he would refuse to listen to hers.

Sherlock might not like it at times but he would do what needed to be done… _for her_.

For his Molly.

“I shouldn’t have said anything…” Molly’s voice seemed rich with tears and true heartbreak.

“But you did and now you _must_ tell me about it. Nothing bad will happen.” Sherlock promised. “I won’t mock your pain. I won’t turn you away in disgust…You are not my client but you are my friend, right?”

Molly slowly opened her stormy surprised eyes. “Of course, how can you ask that?”

“How can you tell me that you killed someone and then not explain?” He questioned right back.

“I’m…not sure I want to talk about it…” Molly admitted in dismay.

“But you will because I want you to…and because you know I will now work to find out. Either you freely tell me or I will seek out the information I want on my own. However, you may not like my methods. And to be honest I should be more focused on Moriarty’s brother and getting him before he gets me but for you…I’ll make the exception.” Sherlock told her honestly.

Even though he was the one pressing her against the hard wooden door he felt her begin to lean towards him. Molly seemed not to notice, however she did notice one thing…

“B-But you are still completely starkers…”

He found himself blinking at her in surprise. Really? What did he being naked have anything to do with their serious conversation? Human flash was simply another garment one wore. Nothing more, nothing less. Oh, perhaps she was trying to un-cleverly change the subject…Silly Molly…That would not work, especially on him.

“And must I remind you that I have been savagely tortured?” Sherlock reminded her, his voice held a sudden icy calm that warned her that he saw through her game and would not tolerate it. She really should know better. “My body is seriously sore, Molly, just like your spirit. You can clearly see that my body hurts and I can clearly see that you are hurting as well. Now you must share your pain, let me see your wound…or are you going to cruelly make me beg? Moriarty’s brother failed at making me do just that, must you be the one to succeed?”

Molly’s eyes were now wide as she slowly shook her head.

“No…” She whispered in soft dismay. “I’d never do that to you…never…”

“I know.” He whispered softly, his iciness for now gone as he freed her face.

Molly had let go of his hands as she had whispered in dismay, her hands were now on the skin of his back and side. Amazingly she never touched any of his bandages or bruised and raw skin…Her touch soft and incredibly gentle…The touch felt so very right…so very good…There was a sweet sensual intimacy to it.

He leaned back slightly so she could move willingly closer to him if she choose to and she did do exactly that. Move closer to him…and she did indeed do so willingly…His heart skipped a beat and a strong completely unfamiliar feeling overwhelmed him as he allowed his arms to gently surround her.

Sherlock felt her breathing…felt her strong attempt to not fall apart. To not let the horror of some long ago memory tear her apart. Though Sherlock suspected that the memory had come to her countless times to shatter her dear sweet heart.

Her head came down and let her cheek rest on his shoulder. Her face turned away before she told him…

“It…It was an accident…”

‘Of course it was.’ Sherlock thought completely without malice. He knew she wouldn’t kill someone on purpose. Not her…

Now Sherlock simply waited for her to continue. As he waited he reached up and with great tenderness caressed the back of her head. She seemed to relax against him. Accepting his kind, gentle touch. She seemed to take his comfort, allowing him to calm and sooth her the only way at least, the only way he could think of…

“I…I d-didn’t mean to shot Vic—“Molly took some deep breaths and held him even tighter before she continued, “I don’t know where to start…h-how to b-begin…”

Sherlock continued to caress the back of Molly’s head…When his long fingers would end up tangled in her hair he carefully untangled himself to simply repeat the motion. The most loving of caresses…

The slight change in the temperature of the room told Sherlock that the hot water he had turned on was now cooling a bit yet he didn’t dare remove himself from Molly to turn the water off. The room still held enough stem and even if it didn’t he’d still hold her…Not ever wanting to let go.

Really he couldn’t….wouldn’t let her go especially now that she needed him. If he turned away now to do something as simple as turning off the shower…She would perhaps run out of the room…Maybe even out of Baker Street, knowing that he was in no shape to go running off after her…He couldn’t let that possibility happen. He couldn’t lose her to something as simple as turning off the water!

All he knew was that no matter what to lose her would wound his very soul.

So he held on and she let him. Though Molly probably thought _she_ was the one doing the holding and that he was simply being kind enough to let her…How foolish. Molly should know by now that he was in no way **_kind_**.

“It doesn’t matter where you start…” Sherlock finally told her. He understood her reluctance to share her heartbreak…He could actually _feel_ the intense grief radiating from her…Her guilt and sorrow far too great. She shouldn’t carry it alone. It seemed to him that the guilt that she borne was far more brutal than the torture he had experienced at Moriarty’s brother’s hands. “The beginning or the middle is a good place for we already know how it ended.”

As Molly choked back a sob, Sherlock belatedly realized that he probably shouldn’t have said it _that_ way…Not that he meant anything bad by it; he was simply stating a fact.

“My grandfather had been an MI5 agent once and he taught me how to handle a gun and shoot at targets all under his watchful eye. I’m certain that I was the only nine year old in the neighborhood who knew how to expertly clean a gun. I had fun shooting the targets and cans and the odd bottle…There were times I would pretend that I was the legendary Annie Oakley…sometimes, anyway…”

She went quiet for a moment as if lost in a memory.

“Silly, I know…” Molly admitted softly.

“Oh, I don’t know…I have no idea who this Annie is that you speak of but when I was a kid I wanted to be a pirate.” Sherlock found himself admitting right back.

She lifted her head from his shoulder to blink at him with wide wondering eyes.

“Silly, I know…” He repeated her words right back to her.

Sherlock thought he witnessed a slight smile before it quickly faded. She lowered her head back to his shoulder to hide her face.

Ah, she didn’t want to look into his sharp eyes as she shared that horrible moment from her past. Well…that’s okay. He was here. His arms were tight around her, giving her security and comfort…An odd yet hopeful protection from that ghastly painful ghost from her past.

Sherlock felt a tremor run through her and it made him hold her even tighter.

Molly was so still and though he could feel and hear her deep breathing, he wondered if she was going to continue and when she did her tone was almost emotionless as if she was reading from a medical textbook.

“My best friend growing up was named Victor. He was a great and funny mate. We met one day when his parents were moving into the house next to mine. Victor’s small dog, Carlos, got loose and ran up to me and began to hump my leg! I had been playing in my yard; you see and was completely taken by surprise. We both giggled over that and from that moment on…we were pals, the best of mates. I was eleven and…and he was the same age…well, a few months older, actually.”

Molly stopped speaking to swallow a couple of times before she started to once more…This time the façade of her being an emotionless textbook faded away….really she didn’t have the talent for it. Now the emotional woman he knew so well was there. A woman who had once been a young carefree girl; who had one good funny full of life friend. A friend she had one day accidently killed.

Oh, Molly…

“W-When I was sixteen the area where I lived was being burglarized…later it was realized it was being done by a father and his two grown sons…One of the sons was quite violet…and sometimes...stealing wasn’t the only thing he did. There were even horrible rapes…a-and…a couple of murders. They were caught and went to prison as is such fate of those that live that way…but before that…Oh, how the neighborhood was afraid, one could feel a worried panic in the air…”

Sherlock wasn’t sure if he should make an encouraging noise or not. If she were a case he would be so bloody impatient for her to continue and give him the facts. If she were a case he was positive that he would do whatever was necessary to get to the heart of the matter…no matter how cruel or manipulative he needed to be. However his dear Molly wasn’t a case, now was she?

No, not at all. His Molly was simply just that his Molly…and she seemed to need him at the moment.

Their bodies were so close, Sherlock could feel her warmth. A warmth since being tortured he found that he very much needed. Maybe he had always needed it but it took being tortured to see it. Who was comforting who, hmm? There could seriously be a mystery in this, he found himself pondering thoughtfully.

As he was thinking, Molly had stayed quiet and stayed so still in his arms. Perhaps she was lost in countless memories, each leading to the one that would forever haunt her.

Finally she spoke once more, “Victor had some problems with his overly religious dad, and they got worse when his mom died in a crash…He, um, Victor was more of a Victoria…and, um, his dad didn’t like it or even accept it. He would pray for his son and would force Victor to pray…in an attempt to save his soul. After his mom’s death…Victor’s dad got worse, he started to try to beat the sin out of him…and after, sometimes in a brutal attempt of getting Satan out, Victor would come and hide out at my house…use my bedroom when things got bad…I didn’t mind. Even if our house was close to his, using my room as a secure bolt-hole seemed to work out. I wanted to help him in any way that I could. One day his father caught Victor with his boyfriend…um, caught as in…you know… _caught_.”

Sherlock nodded. Yeah, he understood, he had a strong feeling that it things did not go well after that.

“Victor was then sent away…His father hoped the new military boarding school would change his son, make him…change his ways. I…I didn’t think it was right and I cried when he went away. He was gone for a couple of weeks until one night he ran away and came back. To the one place he felt the safest, my home…He should have been safe but…but…I made a horrible mistake…I-I didn’t know that he had run away or…or…”

Again she stopped…

“Mistakes are always made, no matter how hard we try not to make them.” Sherlock informed her softly.

She took a deep breath and he felt her nod against his bare shoulder.

“Still I feel it shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have been so stupid…The night he came to my house, there was a storm and my parents had gone out to the theater and though I too had a ticket I hadn’t been feeling well and stayed home. I had been watching the news and a report of another robbery and this time a violent death was being spoken of…And I realized just how alone I was in a big empty house. I went to the safe and got out my grandfather’s gun. I, um, kept it near me as a curled up with a book. At some point the storm got a bit worse and knocked out the electricity. The darkness was so complete. I remember that so clearly. It was so eerie. The only light was when lighting would fill the room. Suddenly I heard noises that weren’t coming from the storm…Noises that told me that I was no longer alone in the house. I grabbed the gun, of course…I waited, fear overwhelming me…thinking about the robberies, the rapes, the murders…they filled my mind. When I noticed a shape, movement in the room…I told it to not come any further…that…that I had a gun, that I would shot…It said nothing, _Victor_ said nothing…I heard a low laugh and I pulled the trigger. I only needed to pull the trigger once for it to be an instant death…”

‘And when the lights came back on…’ Sherlock thought sadly, closing his eyes before he moved his head to brush a single kiss onto her head of hair. She must be completely drained after sharing this, as well as shooting another man. His Molly had a truly horrible day.

He was already thinking about how to make sure she got some much needed rest. She may not like it but he had some safe chemicals and herbs that if he slipped it into her tea…

“I wish he had _said_ something! Why didn’t he say _something…?”_ Molly asked as she surprisingly pulled away from him in a restless and wholly feminine movement.

It felt wrong not to have her in his arms and he wondered why that was. He had spent a lifetime without her in them and now…they felt much to empty. Much too empty.

“He probably thought you didn’t have gun or if you did that you wouldn’t shot.” Sherlock answered simply. “If you told me you had a gun pointed at me and that you would shot, I too would be hard pressed to believe it.”

Molly took a shaky breath yet she no longer seemed to be crying. “I still wish…”

“Wishes are as foolish as wishing on stars.” Sherlock told her watching her closely.

She gave him a quick glance and lifted her chin defiantly. “I still wish on stars.”

Sherlock grinned. Of course, she did. His grin faded as he said honestly, “What happened, Molly, was an accident. “

“I was still stupid and it shouldn’t have happened.” Molly protested.

“If it had been one of the robbers? The one who liked to rape and kill?” Sherlock asked. “Molly, my dear Molly, it was an accident and though the universe is rarely lazy, they do indeed happen.”

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and he yearned to place his arms back around her. Yet he some instinct told him she thought she needed some space. Pure foolishness but he would let her think she had it.

“I-I...Um, should go and check on your dinner and maybe get you some clothes…” Molly told him eyeing the door.

“Right.” Sherlock stated calmly. “However I don’t need clothes, you can bring me my bed sheet. John is so damn Victorian that he would clench his pearls and possibly fall into a faint before he screamed at me like some bloody fishwife…And speaking of clothes, I do hope you brought yourself some to stay for a couple of days.”

“What?” She now looked at him in surprise.

“ _Hello!_ Tortured man standing in front of you! I need someone to take care of me, help change my bandages and watch me for a couple of days. John can’t do it, he has a wife whereas you have cat that won’t punch you hard in the balls if you fail to show up at a reasonable time. Nor do I feel like yelling for Mrs. Hudson to come take care of me, all the whole listening to her complain about her hip or the fact that she is not my housekeeper.  Never fear I won’t yell for you, I do however have a bell I can ring. I expect you to answer it quickly. Oh, do make me some blueberry pancakes in the morning.”

“O-Okay.” Molly answered with wide eyes.

“And sprinkle some cinnamon and sugar lightly on the pancakes before pouring some warm syrup on them. Oh, and I won’t be offended if you want to take a close look at my wounds.” He moved his thigh towards her and his hands went into game show model mode showing one of the marks off. “It’s not often that one sees blowtorch marks on live flesh…Rarely does one even see it on dead flesh, which is a shame. I am quite looking forward to watching it heal and make use of such an experience. You can share it with me. Feel free to get on your knees for a much closer look, anytime if you like, I really don’t mind.”

Molly took a deep gulp of air and looked down before her cheeks turned bright red.

“Right…On my knees, right there in front of…um…Thanks…That’s…Nice of you.” She breathed deeply, her chest raising and falling, and for a moment her pupils dilated.

He gave her an encouraging nod and smile. She seemed to accept it with a weak smile of her own before she quickly turned around to make her escape quite quickly in fact.

Sherlock’s smile faded once the door closed behind her and frowned.

His Molly was still hurting. Would perhaps always hurt, all he could do was…what? Watch over her? Protect her? Let her for the next few days take care of him so her mind won’t think upon those two deaths that happened at her hands and tonight…Yes, he would make certain that she slept and he would watch over her as she did so. Try to make certain nightmares didn’t disturb her and if they dared he’d take her back into his arms.

Hmm, yes, drugging her, he would, of course, make it look like an accident. He’d tell her that he would make the tea and with his own he planned to put something in it to help make _him_ sleep, with a careful sleight of hand he would switch the cups…Perhaps put it in both cups and he would simply fake sipping it…When she would start to get ‘sleepy’ they would both realize his ‘mistake’…Oops. His bad. Molly would forgive him and she would get the much needed sleep…

Yes, that would do. That was going on his mental to do list.

Sherlock looked down on the wound that he showed Molly and suddenly the thought of what he had told her…A picture of her on her knees in front of him…right there in front of him…while he was naked…or while his Molly was naked…

Bloody hell…

His penis was now erect and it looked suddenly quite hopeful at the possibility that it would have future company. Joy!

Sherlock growled down at it before telling his hard-on, “Oh, stop it, it will _never_ happen!”

His penis didn’t seem to look all that disappointed or even believe him.

‘ _Right, you keep believing that Sherlock…’_ He heard John’s voice in his head mock him followed by his gleeful laughter. _‘Though something tells me that if you entered your mind palace right now your Molly will be waiting for you without a stitch on…and I’m willing to bet you that at some point, quite soon, you are going to get bloody tired of using your imagination!’_

Okay, the first item on his to do list was to go out there and punch John hard in the face.

~*~end of part 7~*~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge lovely thank you to my delightful friend lilsherlockian1975, who has taken the time to encourage me and beta this part of the story without me begging, weeping, offering her chocolate or even threats…instead I think she would simply like me to have Sherlock have many happy orgasms! So…yeah…Anyway, thank you my dear and I will get to work on Sherlock + hot, sweaty sex with Molly = happy orgasms.
> 
> Still any mistakes are still my mistakes. 
> 
> Warning: there is a naughty word in here…(GASP)…um, yeah, somewhere…that’s right and it rhymes with ‘luck’ and ‘truck’ and some other words…it doesn’t rhyme with thyme or time…or yeah, you know and I know there are some readers that like a heads up now and then. You are welcome. :-)
> 
> I hope that you continue to enjoy.

~*~And So Beats A Gentle Heart~*~

~*~PART 8~*~

_‘…To the logician all things should be seen exactly as they are, and to the under-estimate oneself is as much a departure from the truth as to exaggerate one’s own powers._

-The Greek Interpreter by Arthur Conan Doyle

_‘”Well, you certainly touched upon rather a tender point…”’_

-The Gloria Scott by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

Molly had known, of course, she had known. No matter what others may say or hint at (for she had heard the whispers that she was a fool and a stupid fool at that, for loving and helping Sherlock Holmes) she was in no way stupid or a fool!

That night Sherlock had drugged her tea. She knew this without a single doubt and seeing that the man in question kept well-known and some unknown rare poisons and questionable herbs on the exact same shelf as his teas…Well, anything was possible.

Except Molly trusted the man she loved, really how could she not? So when he made a loud show of making tea…Which she found to be highly suspicious, for he enjoyed ordering others about and Molly thought he’d be using the whole ‘I’ve been horribly, savagely tortured’ bit…and…really should a horrible, savagely tortured man be expected to make his own tea? She wasn’t cold hearted; of course she would have willingly made tea for him. Wouldn’t have had to twist her arm. No, sir.

Yet…Sherlock had made the tea. He was loud about it too. Slamming cabinet doors and drawers…Making quite the show of it. Wow, he didn’t need a crime scene to be a drama queen!

While he made the tea, he had ordered her to sit and she had done just that…Watching him put on one hell of a good show.

There he was, using his bedsheet much like a toga…Looking carefree and without any worries. Yes, even bruised and he still had to be sore and hurting he hid it well. All the while he looked so devilishly handsome and moved with quick elegance that almost made her wish…oh, how she wished…

But no…Molly couldn’t go there. It was enough that he was simply her good and loyal friend. He didn’t need to be more…Nope. No matter how her heart yearned otherwise.

Though some people just might wonder just how good and loyal a friend was that would purposely drug her…

Well, okay…Sure, she could see where they were coming from. However she knew _why_ Sherlock wanted to drug her. It wasn’t to be mean, cruel, heartless, naughty reason or even for some odd experiment or enjoyment on his part.

No, none of that.

Sherlock wanted her to rest…to sleep a hopefully dreamless night. He knew her much better than any former lover had ever had. He didn’t want her to sob into her pillow with thoughts of her beloved friend Victor or even feel shame over being forced to kill a complete stranger to save John’s life.

So, Sherlock drugged her tea in the strong belief that he was helping her…

Odd, perhaps but even stranger still it did help. For to be honest she wanted to sleep…wanted a dreamless night…some rest before being haunted by painful memories. To not have Victor visit her in her dreams and ask her ‘why’…A question she asked each time she thought of her best friend.

So, as she watched Sherlock put on a show, banging and slamming things…Molly knew damn well the famous consulting detective was up to something.

He even casually…way too casually to be honest…said how he was putting something special in his own tea, which was why he didn’t want her to make it. It was nothing illegal, not even habit forming…All quite safe in fact…

_Safe._

Oh, the way he said that word. His voice seemed to have gotten deeper and the glance he had given her as he spoke that word…

_Safe._

The glance had held a rare tenderness…A softness…A warmth…

And the way he had said it…As if he was promising _her_ safety. That for the moment, everything would be okay for he was there and _nothing_ would hurt her. Not her memories. Not her past or even her present. Not even Sherlock would hurt her…He would do what he could do to comfort her…protect her. Keep her safe…

Molly wasn’t sure how she knew this. Maybe it had just been a whimsical moment, but she honestly didn’t think so.

Molly watched him hand her the cup of tea and his eyes never once left her face. He watched her so very closely…She knew he was waiting for something. That confirmed to her that he had done something to her tea.

She hadn’t felt angry at him, though she probably should have. Her hand hadn’t even gotten that weird itch it sometimes had to slap him. Nope and really…it was because she knew.

Molly wondered if he _knew_ that she knew…Yet he was still putting on the show, being the actor and director, wanting it all to play out perfectly as planned. Perhaps he didn’t know, for he did have a human talent for missing certain things.

Here he had told her that she had to stay at Baker Street for a couple of days so _she_ could take care of _him_ …Yet, Molly suspected that for tonight it was the other way around, at least in Sherlock’s mind. He was planning to watch over her. Keep her safe.

Attempt to keep her from drowning in painful memories and help her rest from a completely rotten day. He’d watch over her, of course. Be there for her.

So really, how could she be angry with him over that? So with his eagle sharp eyes watching her, she lifted the cup and slowly sipped the hot tea…The hot _drugged_ tea.

And then after what seemed a few minutes….Sherlock lied to her. Okay, to be honest, that annoyed the hell out of her. Him seeming to mutter darkly about how a mix up must have happened…how it must have been her fault somehow. Yeah, right…Really he couldn’t pull a fast one on her. Not at the moment anyway.

Molly felt whatever chemical he gave her take effect. He was instantly there to keep her from sliding out of her chair with kind and gentle hands…God, those hands…Those wonderful hands of Sherlock’s…they could be so strong…so very strong…much like deadly sharp iron when dealing with the criminal element yet with her…They were gentle, kind, loving in their own way…They were perfect actually. Full of security, warmth and comfort.

Molly had been dimly aware of Sherlock lifting her into his arms and carrying her close to his chest and holding her tenderly. She may have breathed his name as he moved steadily and purposely towards his bedroom door. As always his door stood open so it was quite simple for him to lay her down on his bed with no trouble.

“Everything will be alright, Molly…” Sherlock promised her softly. His hand caressed her hair back away from her face. Molly could no longer keep her eyes open though to be honest she wasn’t really even trying to achieve such an action.

And so she slept.

If she had any dreams, Molly had no memory of them when she opened her eyes the next morning.

Sherlock was sitting in a chair by the bed, with his fingers under his chin and eyes halfway closed almost as if he was in deep thought…except those eyes seemed oddly aware and focused on her. Simply watching her…Oh, God, she couldn’t help but think, she hoped like hell she hadn’t snored or…or drooled…Hmm…Actually, with how dry her mouth seemed to be…that would have been doubtful…but still…

Plus, she hoped that she hadn’t talked in her sleep either! Goodness, she didn’t want her mind to even go there! That would have been so embarrassing! Though…Really… Molly guessed it didn’t matter what her body did while she slept…What mattered was the odd and strange feeling that Sherlock had taken the time to be there by her side. To watch over her while she slept. Though she had no way of knowing if he had been there the whole night…and perhaps to some it might seem creepy except to her it was…well…it was really, really nice. Especially coming from Sherlock.

The thought that he would actually do that, for her, made her heart melt.

Again, she had no idea if he had sat there the whole night, he could have played his violin in the sitting room for hours on end and she would have never known. Not with the chemical that he had given her to keep her in much needed peaceful slumber.

All she knew for certain was that he was here by her side right now.

Still in a damn bedsheet and really no man should have that sexy of knees or legs…Damn, even those toes of Sherlock’s made her have seriously naughty thoughts.

Luckily, Sherlock didn’t seem to notice that there was a woman in his bed that was thinking about him all stretched out like some sweet pagan sacrifice and then…oh, then she would slowly, oh so slowly place her mouth and hands over every single sexy inch of his—

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Sherlock cruelly and heartlessly interrupted her delicious thoughts. “I’m ready for those blueberry pancakes now.”

Of course he was.

Molly watched silently as he stood and gave a long drawn out stretch before he turned and walked out of the room and how he gathered the bedsheet around him…well…she received a mighty fine hint of an sweet squeezable ass. An ass that had luckily not been touched during his horrible torture.

It looked lovely, really. Great poets of the past would have written sonnets about such a lovely beautiful ass. Pale and smooth…it made Molly want to leap up and grab said wonderful sexy ass…

Now she was in no way a slut, but that ass of Sherlock’s could make a buttoned up nun suddenly have deliciously naughty lusty thoughts…

“Molly! The pancakes won’t make themselves now, will they?” Sherlock shouted from somewhere in his flat.

And speaking of asses…

“Sherlock, I must use the loo first and hopefully find clean clothes and a toothbrush…and a hair brush…” Molly yelled back before muttering the last bit about the hair brush knowing her hair must look awful. She slowly sat up and pushed back the blanket that she dimly remembered Sherlock covering her with.

Sherlock seemed to instantly show back up to stand there in the doorway of his room. Right before he started to explain almost as if she should have figured this all out on her own…

“I gave Mrs. Hudson the keys to your flat along with a list of things you would need. There are clean clothes and even a toothbrush as well as some other… _things_. The bag is in the bathroom. Oh, and she even checked on your cat and it seems that Toby is still very much a cat. An alive one at that.”

She wasn’t sure she had expected anything else, so all she could do was slowly blink at him before gifting him a bright smile. “Well, that’s good! I’d hate to go home expecting a sweet housecat and end up with a moody lion.”

“Mmmm, yes, that would indeed be a huge surprise now wouldn’t it?” Sherlock smirked at her mischievously.

Damn it all! Did he have to be such a hottie? Even as his body was slowly healing from being tortured…Goodness! Sherlock Holmes was every woman’s great erotic fantasy until…

“Now why are you not making me those pancakes for me, woman?” Sherlock asked giving her a look. “Seriously, Molly, you are not normally so lazy.”

…until he opened his mouth.

Molly groaned in frustration.

“Sherlock!” she growled before stomping up to him, lifting her chin and glaring at the man. The great consulting detective rarely ever ate especially when working a case and now it seemed he was demanding cooked food from her…And here she was barely feeling or even looking human at the moment. Sheesh! “I’ll make your damn pancakes when I’m ready too and not before! Now out of my way, I have a much more important mission to accomplish!”

He sidestepped to let her move past him giving her only enough room to brush against his lean body. There was still a mischievous smirk upon his face and a sparkle in his eyes that made her suspect that he was highly amused by her outburst.

When she entered the bathroom she slammed the door shut…She could have sworn that she heard Sherlock chuckle.

The bastard…

When Molly finally left the loo, she felt much more human and hopefully looked like one as well. She was thankful and very grateful when she had found the overnight bag so carefully and lovingly packed. She’d have to remember to thank Mrs. Hudson. She had a strong feeling that Sherlock hadn’t bothered to thank the dear sweet woman.

When she walked into the kitchen, she noticed right away that Sherlock was no longer alone. At least she strongly believed he had been alone as he waited for her to wake up earlier. Something in his manner was now different so that lead her to believe that she was right.

In the setting room, Molly could clearly see that Sherlock still had that damn bedsheet wrapped tightly and sexily around him as he sat in his chair. His knees were drawn up to his chest and the sheet did a fine job covering anything that needed to be covered.

However there was a very familiar man now sitting opposite of Sherlock and his faithful bedsheet…Important note, the man sitting opposite was _not_ wearing a bedsheet. Not to be mean but…she was a bit thankful about that fact. The familiar man was actually perfectly, quite classily and most expensively dressed. A impeccable dark grey three piece suit no less…He turned his head slightly behind his shoulder to look at her as if he had known instantly that she had entered…It looked as if a brief smile thought about gracing his lips but in the end found it was simply too lazy to do so.

Mycroft’s cold glance didn’t seem quite as icy as the last time Molly had laid eyes on him.

Gee, it was amazing what a little yet well-placed, hard slap could do.

With a man like Mycroft Holmes it seemed to have made him slightly more human than a cold calculating machine. Molly smiled brightly at him before giving him a welcoming happy finger wave. He nodded in acceptance of the smile and happy finger wave…however…she had an odd feeling that he would rather have his balls set on fire before being run over by a truck before he’d _ever_ lift his hand and give someone a cheerful wiggling finger wave…Then for some reason she had a brief thought and wondered if cold and oh so proper Mycroft Holmes had ever given someone an unfriendly finger wave…a certain middle finger perhaps…She knew damn well Sherlock gave those freely, mostly to the man in front of him. She had witnessed it countless times…A few moments ago being one of them.

Mycroft Holmes proper man that he was seemed to have not noticed it (aka ignored it but later will sneer something nasty at his brother probably as he walked out the door, back towards Sherlock and leaving quickly)…Greatest brotherly revenge, keep brother who loves having last word from that last word…

Perhaps why Sherlock had given him the finger, response to the last time they had met and the same silly thing had happened.

Honestly, Molly would never understand normal men, but the Holmes brothers…they weren’t normal men now were they?

“Morning, Mycroft!” Molly found herself saying as she moved around Sherlock’s kitchen and happy that she could easily hear everything the brilliant brothers said. Which was a good thing for if she had to gather all the necessary items to make the man she loved (aka the great Lord and Arse of Baker Street) his breakfast she might as well have entertainment!

“Morning, Molly,” Sherlock’s brother replied right back respectfully even though there wasn’t much emotion within his tone.

Molly briefly noticed Sherlock giving them a frown as if unsure how he felt with them calling each other now by their first names…He might be trying to figure out when and why that happened.

“Will you be staying for blueberry pancakes, Mycroft?” Molly asked as a large bowl she had found clinked against the counter top as she set it down.

“Will they have cinnamon sugar dusted on them?” Mycroft asked right back this time there was emotion in his tone…A lot of it in fact…Hope and…anticipation…She imagined if she could see him at that moment she’d see a longing in those cold blue eyes. Hmm, Mycroft Holmes seemed to have a serious love affair with sweets…

“Of course,” Molly informed him in such a way that suggested that he was quite silly thinking otherwise.

“I guess I can make time in my extremely busy schedule for pancakes with cinnamon sugar dusted on them,” Mycroft replied in a completely flippant tone.

“Hey! Those are _my_ blueberry pancakes that Molly’s making!” Sherlock growled at his brother looking highly unpleased. If he had been king it was highly likely he’d be asking for one’s removal…of one’s head.

“I’ll be making plenty to go around, Sherlock…I’m making enough for you, not that you ever eat very much, Mrs. Hudson, me…and your brother….and some extra just in case John and Mary show up and if they don’t I can freeze the remaining pancakes that I have made and you can have the extra later.”

“That is all fine and good…nice of you, but then you are always _nice_ unless I’m high,” Sherlock muttered almost darkly before saying quite clearly giving his brother a look of displeasure. “Fatty here doesn’t need pancakes. I see that you have gained three pounds since I’ve seen you last.”

“Actually I’ve gained _one and a half_ pounds…and really, Sherlock…here I’ve been lead to believe that you have learned to _share_ your things.” Mycroft said quite coldly as if something now was displeasing _him_.

Molly quickly looked over in time to see Sherlock give his older brother a confusing gaze.

“When have I ever _shared_ anything of mine, Mycroft?” Sherlock asked all the while saying the word ‘shared’ as if it was highly vulgar and insulting to even bring up in respectable company.

Molly wasn’t watching at the moment but had a feeling that Mycroft had just shrugged seeming to not respond to that line of questioning…not just yet anyway…instead he stated as if he was talking to a toddler. “Sherlock, I do wish you would put some clothes on.”

“And I wish that you would go away…far, _far_ away.”

“Sherlock—“

“Must I remind you that I’ve been brutally tortured, Mycroft?”

“No, you don’t need to remind me, brother mine! One of the reasons I’m here and it _reminds you_ that I care about you-will always be here for you…however, just because you have been tortured does not mean you now get to run around your flat with no clothes on!” Mycroft declared sharply.

“I’m perfectly covered and if mummy were here she wouldn’t mind so why do you?”

“I’m not mummy! However, if she was here she would highly suggest you put on one of your dressing gowns…for you do have company. Perhaps that nice maroon one that flatters you quite nicely, if I must say. Or that tan one I gave you as a welcome home present.”

 “I will have you know that _*all*_ my dressing gowns flatter me nicely!” Sherlock informed his brother as if he should have already known this.

“Not so…that black satin one makes you look as if you have birthing hips.”

Sherlock suddenly glared at him highly insulted before he growled, “ _How dare you_!”

“I’m simply stating the truth, Sherlock! Your hips look _huge_ in that one! Deep inside you know this to be true…it’s why you rarely wear it!”

“If my hands weren’t sore I’d be punching you hard in the face!”

“And if I weren’t sitting so comfortably in this chair…or even really _care_ … I’d shake you for being such a horrid friend to John and _Molly_ … **especially** Molly.”

Molly nearly dropped the egg she was about to break into the bowl on her foot before turning her face towards the Holmes brothers. Mycroft had sounded almost… _angry_ …

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him, standing up to tower over him. “What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

“John has developed an on-line gambling problem and you have done _nothing_!” Mycroft accused. “He is a married man. A husband and a father… _and your **best friend**! _ Yet you are doing nothing to help him _!_ ”

“As if you know anything about being a _best_ friend! You don’t even _have_ friends! You only know people, or goldfish as you like to call them!” Sherlock growled almost hatefully. Fire in his sharp eyes. “And I will have you know that I have been doing something! I have been stealing his laptop and locking it in my drawer! John is annoyed but he suspects that I know he has an on-line gambling problem but I won’t say anything until he openly brings it up first! Do you want to know _why_ , you heartless prick? Because I am a damn, fine best friend!”

“Oh, right, you are such a ‘damn fine’ friend you faked your suicide and left your best friend hurting in a sea of painful emotions for two long years… You, Sherlock, nearly broke him…Is that what friends do?” Mycroft informed him coldly.

Sherlock stood there, as if he had been slapped, then almost looking lost there for a moment. Lost and fragile. Molly nearly dropped everything to run over there to hit Mycroft and hug Sherlock. She didn’t mostly because the look disappeared so very quickly.

“And I came back and I even said that I was sorry,” Sherlock told Mycroft before lifting his chin and continuing, “We are good now. John and I’s relationship is in a good place and I’m certain it will stay there. I will do my best to always be there for him, be at his side when need be. Fight for and with him because I may not be the most likable man around here but I have learned what it means to be a friend. Mostly because John has been teaching me! So, don’t you _dare_ sit there and judge me, brother mine--”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Mycroft cut in softly, his face was completely void of any expression. “ _Judging you?_ I don’t have _friends_ , Sherlock, remember? So, really… _What the fuck do I know_?”

“Exactly! What the hell do you know about having or maintaining a relationship with _friends_? You might be the Smart One but on this matter I surpass you!” Sherlock almost snarled the words as he eyed Mycroft most unpleasantly.

“Well, I know for certain that I wouldn’t pimp _my friends_ out like you do with _Molly_!” Mycroft told him with a sharp deadly edge to his voice.

Sherlock actually looked as if his brain had shut down for a brief moment…or exploded…Molly really wasn’t sure of which.

Then…Oh, God, _then_ Sherlock’s eyes met hers…They were suddenly brutal with intense emotion of likes she had never before witnessed…Eyes that were so damn cold and deadly sharp with a smoldering anger…For some reason she was reminded of the fact that he was so very handsome and at the moment there seemed to be a savage beauty to him…A Warrior of old…It reminded her that Moriarty’s brother was in for a world of hurt, there would be nothing left of that fool once Sherlock was done with him…However, at the moment that look was turned… _on to her_ …

“Do you have any idea what the _fuck_ my brother is talking about, Molly?” His voice was low and commanding…

Goodness…He was _hot_ …

Molly took a deep and shaky breath.

Seriously, there was something so damn sexy about that commanding voice and that hard savage look. It made her think of naughty hot things…Things in her imagination that would completely wipe out that dark frown upon Sherlock’s face.

Nor was she use to him saying the ‘f’ word…Yet, now…

Now she could picture him whispering that in her ear with that deep low _commanding_ voice of his and his hands slid down her thighs to…to…oh, _right_ …

Sherlock had asked her a question and his eyes were now challenging her to answer him.

**_Now. Right now in fact…_ **

So…nervously and a bit bravely she cleared her throat to state quite clearly, “Well, you see…There’s been a slight misunderstanding…I fear, Mycroft simply misunderstood what I said…um, yeah, that’s right…a misunderstanding…”

“A misunderstanding?” Sherlock asked slowly as if he was uncertain that he understood such a word.

Molly moved her mouth to respond but found to her dismay no words coming forth…

“Molly informed John and me that she’d do _anything_ for you,” Mycroft came quickly to her rescue. “Even, to my great horror, give strangers blowjobs! Perhaps even more scandalous sexual favors! All for you, of course…The way she talked, brother mine, made me wonder if you hadn’t already…well, _you know_ …pimped her out…”

He suddenly left the sentence hanging. Making Molly realize with a start that she did not want or need to be rescued by this man. She felt he had just put a rope around her neck! That damn rat bastard!

**_“Never!”_** Sherlock said moving his eyes away from Molly to glare at his annoying brother.

“Perhaps you should inform her that her doing such a thing is _never_ necessary. For I will have you know that she went to that ghastly cabin where you were being held with the plan of giving your kidnapper’s blowjobs just to save your pale skinny and highly annoying arse!” Mycroft quickly added leaning over to look at Molly over his shoulder with wide eyes as if he still couldn’t believe that had been the game plan.

Molly was studying an extremely unhappy Sherlock. The famous consulting detective in no way looked happy or thankful at all…Not that she would have really done that but still…wasn’t it the thought that mattered?

Suddenly, Molly had an odd thought… A very odd thought indeed…Why would the self-proclaimed high functioning sociopath _care_? Was that possessiveness and something else in his normally cold eyes? Something much like jealousy at the thought that she would do something so personal and private to another man?

This was Sherlock Holmes, for heaven sake! The legendary consulting detective was well known for doing _anything_ for a case. No matter how cold or cruel or how crazy it seemed to be…YET…

Oh, goodness! The way his intelligent eyes glittered so savagely and how his jaw looked tight enough to break and those manly sore looking hands tightened upon the bedsheet he wore so proudly…

It truly did make her wonder if she was imagining something that the woman inside her yearned for. It gave her sad, lonely heart a flutter of hope…Could it be that Sherlock Holmes actually _cared_ and was it possible that that caring could possibly turn into something more… _much more?_

**No!** She didn’t want to think that way, for it would surly lead to nothing but heartache and deep despair.

It was just…Well…Sherlock always seemed to surprise her. Perhaps it was because he was unique and never boring…He seemed well adapted at keeping everyone including her on her toes.

Her thoughts where roughly broken as Sherlock stated darkly, “Well, that did not happen. In fact… **That.** **Will.** **Never. Happen. _Ever._** Molly, you will _never_ give anyone oral sex or hell _any_ type of sex other than—“ He suddenly cut himself off. His lips slamming shut and was it the light from the window that made him seem so suddenly pale? And…was that a flicker of… _fear_ …in those eyes?

“Other than?” Mycroft repeated slowly, looking much like a shark who now scented fresh blood in the water. “Tell me, who is this ‘other than’ of which you speak?”

“I have said all that needs to be said on this matter, Mycroft and Molly will now obey,” Sherlock declared with a lifted chin and extreme haughtiness that would have put to shame any royalty. “Now, Molly remember no more sex or blowjobs and Mycroft be a good brother and stick your dick in a blinder and turn it on. I must go and get dressed.”

He began to stomp proudly towards his bedroom when Mycroft’s voice stopped him. His back straight and rigid.

“Now that is not nice and I’m not talking about you wanting me to seriously hurt myself, no….but I have spoken to Molly’s former lovers…not that she has many but they have all declared that her blowjobs were truly outstanding. One even cried at what he said was the most beautiful thing he’d ever experienced and he shouldn’t have been such a prick to a goddess such as her. So really, brother mine, to not allow such pleasure on any of Molly’s future partners would be a great tragedy.”

Sherlock did not turn around to look at him or Molly.

“Wait…my former lovers said they were ‘truly outstanding’?” Molly quickly asked.

“Yes, they gave you five stars,” The British government confirmed.

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Molly couldn’t help but say. For really what else could she say and really it was sweet?

“Well, like I said you haven’t had a lot of lovers. However they all remembered your blowjobs with great fondness, however, they did not enjoy you talking about past autopsies you have performed or the ones in the past that you would have enjoyed doing while you both snuggled after colitis. Mostly they involved murdered victims of the past that you went born during that time to do…”

Molly frowned. Well…obviously those silly men didn’t understand fantastic conversation. How boring of them. For she remembered the talks with great fondness…though, yes, it was mostly a one sided conversation but she thought it was because she wore them out.

Finally she shrugged right as she heard Sherlock walk the rest of the way to his bedroom and slam his door. Hard.

Molly sighed and went back to making the Holmes brother’s their breakfast.

To suddenly find Mycroft beside her, she was deeply surprised by this as she never once heard or saw him coming towards her. Yet…There he was. Suddenly there, next to her and silently breathing. Some would find that alone creepy.

“I have plans in place,” Mycroft suddenly informed her in a low, soft voice. “This is one mission I will not have fail.”

“Oh…” Molly blinked at him. Not sure what he was going on about or how to respond so she went with, “Oh-Okay.”

A small smile briefly lifted the corner of his lips.

“I may annoy you and say things that…will seem…odd,” Mycroft explained calmly. “But they are very important. For you see Molly, I like you and I’m not really fond of people. I don’t like them at all actually…Yet…I like you. I am a man who refuses to have friends…However, I do have family. You, my dear, are going to become my sister and for that to come about we must get you married to Sherlock.”

Molly could only stare at him stunned and perhaps gasping at him like a fish out of water.

“In the coming weeks my plans,” Mycroft explained, still talking softly. “are extremely important. For you see, Molly, I like you and seeing that I am not fond of people and a bit of an apathetic sociopath…and yes, I know both words  seem to mean the same thing however it’s better than calling myself an ‘high functioning’ sociopath…I simply don’t care nor want to…However, I find myself liking you. I’m starting to ‘care’ which is annoying. So, seeing that I’m a man who refuses to have friends….mostly because I’m of a higher intellect than everyone else and not because I care that they could be used against me. I’m a sociopath so really, I don’t care if they are used against me. I do, however, have family and to make my mummy happy…I care about family. I’m told I will _always_ care even after she dies…though I do find that I do care….About Mummy and Daddy and Sherlock…and other family members…anyway, my point is…I now find I care about you and that means that you, my dear, are going to become my sister. I know you won’t fight it, for you love him, madly, and deeply, which makes it easier to marry you off to my brother and marry him you will.”

Molly found herself staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. Completely frozen now. She eyed him as if Mycroft was cobra instead of a man…The way he stared at her with cold, unblinking eyes…

He continued, “As I have stated, this mission will _not_ fail. Now, do me a favor…lightly dust a little flour onto the front of your blouse and when seated at the table, I will tap your foot with mine. That will be your signal to adjust your bra strap. _Do not look at my brother!_ I want you to make sure you jiggle one of those breasts of yours…you will receive bonus points if after a moment you jerk both of your breasts up and down, by those bra straps…”

“Sherlock thinks my breasts are tiny.” Was all she could think to say.

He tilted his head and his eyes suddenly warmed. “Ah, so he has already pointed out that he has eyed your breasts whenever you have entered the room.”

 Molly blinked up at him… “Well, I wouldn’t go that far…I don’t think…”

“Has my brother ever talked about any other body part of yours?”

“Well…um, h-he said I had a small mouth.”

Mycroft chuckled. He actually chuckled! “Oh, my dear, that is good! Tell me, when he told you that was his back turned towards you?”

Why did that matter? Molly wondered. She shifted upon her feet, nervously. “Well, that was a long time ago…a-and he noticed that I had taken off some lip stick and he said my lips were too small without it now a-and, yes, his back was turned.”

Mycroft chuckled again. He looked as if he was a kid in a candy store. There was a twinkle in his eyes. He leaned in even closer to share with her. “My dear brother was bragging. When we were young he once told me to shut my big mouth. I told him that seeing how we were siblings that what he just said was vulgar and wrong on so many levels nor did I care about the size of his dick. Then I explained that if a man told another person, be it male or female, that they had a big mouth they had just declared that that they had a tiny penis. However if that male told someone that they had small mouth or lips…well…their penis was huge. Though I told him not to fear, if he had a small dick, for even tiny things were a choking hazard…Anyway….why would Sherlock be bragging about his dick size to you if he wasn’t interested in you?”

“B-But that was a long time ago…”

“And he trusts you and values you even more today than he did yesterday,” he declared. “So, really, doing certain things my way…what could it hurt? Hmmm?”  


Molly silently stared after Mycroft as he went back to the chair he had left. He had moved with stealth like elegance. He calmly picked up a newspaper and unfolded it to appear as if he was reading intently.

She must have been staring at him for a long time for his voice made her jump as he declared, “You know breakfast won’t make itself…sister mine.”

The ‘sister mine’ was said in such a beautiful whisper. Full of promise. Full of the belief that she was already Sherlock’s wife…already an in-law…his sister. Not by blood but by marriage.

Mycroft Holmes was a sweet crazy man. Perhaps two words that one would not normally put towards the cold, brilliant and highly arrogant man but the way he said… _’sister mine’…_

Molly knew instantly that he actually believed those words to already be true. They were real to him. Not some dream or a long shot…but _real_. If only…she could believe in those  words as well.

Oh, to be Sherlock’s wife. His partner…to simply be _his_ …

However, she knew the truth…

Molly felt a sad and wistful smile come upon her face…

No…How could that ever be possible? She would never be Mycroft Holmes’ sister…

Maybe…With time he will be forced to simply accept her friendship…without her getting slap happy towards him…

Quietly, she turned away, to work on making those pancakes…

And for some odd reason that she couldn’t quite explain she found herself dusting the top of her blouse with flour…

~*~The end of part 8~*~


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have heard that the lovely British calls a flashlight, a torch and this was confirmed by my wonderful friend lilsherlockian1975, she also looked this over and has made this fic…as always so much better. Thank you my beautiful and awesome friend. You rock…any other mistakes you find are because I made them and I’m not perfect…if I was I wouldn’t have eaten that entire box of cookies! 
> 
> Also everyone who has let me know they are enjoying this thank you so much! You are all awesome!
> 
> A weird but interesting note: Years ago I remember a talented slash writer saying once that a writer should never write that a man giggles…he can laugh, chuckle, roar in a joyful drunken manner but never giggle…not even when his best mate face plants off of a bar stool. Part of me understands this. However, in this fic I have decided to place an original Arthur Conan Doyle character, who I find creepy as hell because he was known for his soft giggling, into my fic. I don’t give his name but he is in ‘The Greek Interpreter’. This villain has always been a bit too dark and just…well, I’ll just say it, he’s a creepy FUBAR’d asshole. In this fic he is one of Moriarty’s brother’s men and I thought if he was in the room while Sherlock was being tortured…it would make it more dark and creepy…having him softly giggling…So to those that don’t like reading about a man giggling…um, yeah, well, life goes on…
> 
> Also, we all know they do giggle!
> 
> Oh, and those that would like a cliff note version about what this man looks like, even though Sherlock gives a very brief mention in my story. He’s ‘…small, mean-looking, middle-aged man with rounded shoulders...wearing glasses.’ Also, ‘He spoke in a nervous, jerky fashion and with little giggling laughs in between, but somehow he impressed me with fear more than the other.’
> 
> Okay, then, thank you Mr. Doyle or is that Sir?
> 
> And no, I don’t wish to know your theory on fairies. Sorry.
> 
> Though feel free to tell your theory of what Sherlock is wearing under his trousers…
> 
> Well, anyway, now more of…

~*~And So Beats A Gentle Heart~*~

~*~PART 9~*~

_My hand has been forced…_

-The Final Problem by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

_‘…I would sooner face a Martini bullet myself. Are you game for a 6-mile trudge, Watson?’_

                -The Sign of the Four by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

_The man giggled in his venomous way._

                -The Greek Interpreter by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

Sherlock stood in the darkness and simply stared…rarely blinking in fact…at the slow breathing obviously sleeping form upon the bed before him. With a sudden move, as quick as a snake about to strike his prey, he hit the button that flicked on the big torch that he held in his grip. Bright piercing light hit John squarely and perfectly in his once sleeping face. The good doctor jerked and with a low curse covered his face. Of course, Sherlock couldn’t help but smirk as he suddenly turned off the light and waited…

A calm familiar female voice spoke in the sudden darkness. “Sherlock, is there something you need?”

_‘Molly’._ The word, the person came suddenly to Sherlock. He couldn’t help but growl as he decided that his need for Molly was all John’s fault and he should be punished with lack of sleep and he was willing to bring forth said punishment with great delight! So once more the bright light flicked back on right on the doctor’s face.

“What I _need_ , Mary, is to talk to _my_ best friend… _alone_! I brought you, your favorite pint of ice cream that is now slowly melting on your kitchen counter and I also happen to know that stupid romantic American crap of a movie that you happen to like is on. _‘Sixteen idiots’_ or something like that…I really don’t care if I said the title correctly or not. Now, go check on your peacefully sleeping daughter because I’m sure that’s what good mummies do. Eat. Watch crap or whatever…Just go away. Now. Please.”

He carefully refused to let the light touch Mary for he knew damn well that she had a gun close by…and would use the damn thing on him!

“Sherlock! It’s 2:18 in the bloody morning!” John informed him, highly annoyed and quite loudly…as if the world’s only and greatest consulting detective had absolutely no concept of time or even a watch…or as if he was hard of hearing…

However, Sherlock did in fact know what time it was for he had a very nice and expense watch. One that kept perfect time…It was spot on, in fact because his brother had given it to him and had personally set it himself…His big arse of a brother was quite anal about knowing the correct time so of course it was right. Also, he could hear just perfectly fine, so there was no need to speak so loud. As a new father, John should have already learned this by now.

Sherlock moved the torch closer to John’s face to speak in a low, soft and angry voice. “You told me once that I could come and see you anytime I wished especially if I ever needed to _talk_ to you. Were you lying to me, John, hmm? Is it because I was brutally tortured? You now see me as weak don’t you? You no longer want to be my friend because I was tortured! The one time I actually want to do this damn _talking_ thing you seem to enjoy so much, and you tell me the _time_ as if that should mean something! Well, guess what you lying little hobbit, piss off!”

“Stop being a twat of a drama queen! Of course we can talk! Just never thought you’d wake me at 2:18 in the bloody morning to do so!” While John talked he grabbed at the torch in Sherlock’s hand, they both held on as they tugged back and forth, quite violently.

They both heard a soft click and the room instantly filled with light from the lamp Mary had obviously turned on that rested so readily upon her bedside table.

Sherlock refused to look at Mary as she moved from the bed…in case she was not wearing something more suitable for mothers and was something more _husband_ approved. He allowed John to take the torch, only because he wanted too, and his friend tossed it to the floor.

Sherlock finally glanced at John’s wife when he was certain he had given her enough time to place her dressing gown on and knot it together. He would have to remind John later that this was proof that he was in fact a proper gentleman.

“Thank you for the ice cream, Sherlock,” Mary said with an amused almost creepily happy smile…One only a true psychopath would wear at such an early hour.

Sherlock gave a slight nod and then jerked his head towards the door in the hope that it would move her along.

Her smile became deadly, almost predator like and Sherlock refused to shiver. Nope, he was _not_ doing that! Instead, he did his best to ignore her as he quickly moved to her side of the bed and flopped down. Mary had begun to walk out of the room, yet before Sherlock could place his mud-covered shoes up to rest she ordered him to take them off…Never once looking at him as she _finally_ left.

Quickly, as if he had planned to do so all along, he took his shoes off and tossed them across the room. Landing with a careless thud, not caring there was now a mark of mud upon the wall where they hit. Sherlock knew John would be cleaning it up after he left.

Sherlock began to move around, bouncing a bit, making himself much more comfortable. With a joyful smirk, he made the bed bounce more than necessary. Finally, he settled down happily, knowing full well that John was staring at him. Sherlock sighed as his head rested against Mary’s pillow. It was a very nice pillow, if he didn’t know Mary would shot him, he’d simply take the pillow when he left.

He was still for a long moment before he grabbed the covers. Cradling a huge handful to his chest. He knew had taken most of John’s covers and he didn’t know why that made him happy just that it did. Sherlock knew he had to take any moment of happiness wherever he could find it.

“So…” John began clinging to what was left of his covers as if suddenly concerned that any second those too would be taken from him as well…much like his grand hope for a good night’s sleep…Kind of a foolish hope, really for he was a new father with a baby in the flat. “Do you really want to talk?”

Silence met John’s soft-spoken question. Finally, he gave a half moan and sigh all at once…Then he waited…and waited some more. It was only as Sherlock watched John close his eyes did he finally decide to speak.

“With your wife’s love of old romantic American crap movies, I should have realized instantly that she was an assassin. That clue alone shouted psychopath.”

John opened his eyes to glare at him before demanding belligerently, “Really, _that_ is what you wanted to talk to me about this late at night?”

“Technically, it’s actually morning,” Sherlock corrected.

“Oh, piss off!” John snapped, deciding right then and there that he was _not_ a morning person. He wiggled the covers slightly to see if there was any chance in hell that he could get some of them back from Sherlock. Nope, sadly it looked as if that was not happening. Not at all. Sherlock, the bastard, gave him a slight small smile and tightened his iron grip on the covers even more. He pulled slightly and lost more to the world’s greatest and only true consulting detective.

John heaved a sigh. Big and dramatic. Sherlock Holmes was not the only drama queen around here.

“So…Are you okay?” John asked softly, truly hoping his friend wouldn’t explode into a totally arse at that question of honest heartfelt concern.

“No, John, I’m not okay,” Sherlock quickly admitted. Being quite honest with John and himself. There was however a slight hard bite to his tone, as if he shouldn’t have admitted this…as if John being his friend should have known this instantly…It was sad how a good doctor could _see_ but not _observe_!

“Is it your wounds?” John immediately asked as he moved a little closer to the other man upon his bed. The healer in him desperately wanting to help in some way.

“They’re fine. My wounds are healing nicely. You and Molly have been making sure of that. Every night Molly has been putting that horrid medical cream on them, especially the ones I can’t reach for I will never able to bend that way. She even put some on before she left to go back to her flat. Those three days she stayed with me were nice, John, very _nice_. Too nice in fact.”

“Oh…Well…That’s…um…nice,” John said as if unsure what to say but needed to say something.

“Yes, it was nice. I enjoyed it…So…Did I tell you that Moriarty’s brother sent me some flowers with a note saying how he hopes I don’t get well soon?”

“He’s such a damn freaking prick!” John growled darkly. “I really hate him…That bloody bugger, when I get my hands on him…he’s going to…to…”

“Fall upon your fists over and over again?” Sherlock guessed with amusement, while looking at his best friend. A best friend who cared about him deeply. He never once thought that would happen to him. Best friends happened to other people. Never him, a high-functioning sociopath, but somehow…He, Sherlock Holmes, had ended up with one. A loyal and faithful friend who would walk through hell with him simply because they were friends.

“Yeah, it’s not my fault if he’s a clumsy sod now is it?” John confirmed, “And then after he is finished falling upon my fists. I’ll purposely pistol whip him!”

Sherlock chuckled before giving him a slight corner smile. He liked the fact that this normally nice and kind man had such a violent adventuress nature. “Well, I have dibs on shooting him.”

“Damn right you do!” John couldn’t help but smile back before it faded as he carefully eyed Sherlock. They were such serious eyes…haunted eyes of a soldier. “So, Moriarty’s brother actually send you flowers?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Yeah, they were boring flowers. If Moriarty himself had sent them they would have at least been interesting! Perhaps something quite poisonous. There are thousands of flowers available that are considered harmful. Take foxglove for example. Beautiful yet quite deadly. If foxglove were sent to me, I’d sit up and take notice. Plus, I’d use it for some experiments.”

“Moriarty could have even sent you an evil fruit basket with a bite taken out of each item.” John decided to throw in a guess.

“Oh! Yeah, that would be pure evil and right up his alley! I could totally see Moriarty doing something like that!”

“Yeah,” John agreed with a nod as he glanced at Sherlock. “Did the flowers or the place that sent them give you any clues to where this worthless piece of excrement could be?”

“No. The order was paid for in notes by a teenager…who said a man told him to order them, where to send them and what the card needed to say…then the man said if the teen came back with the receipt then he’d triple the previous notes that he was just given. The teenager was happy to do so even if the man gave him the creeps…the man he described…well, he sounds like one of the brother of Moriarty’s thugs. He…he was in the room while I was being beaten and tortured…even had fun helping a bit. The bugger softly giggled a lot…A grown man should _never_ giggle, John.”

Sherlock watched his best friend shiver, looking a tad bit creeped out before stating, “Yeah, that’s…that’s just wrong on so many levels…”

“Well, you know what else is wrong?” Sherlock asked feeling highly annoyed for some reason. “It’s mostly your fault that I was taken and tortured in the first place.”

John’s eyes suddenly went cold and furious. “The hell you say, Sherlock! If you want to go looking for someone to blame that is all fine and dandy…it is what it is…however, put the blame where it truly belongs…Moriarty’s brother! How dare you say…I’m to blame…you…you nincompoop!”

Sherlock blinked in shock at hearing such an old fashion and rarely used word coming from John before understanding struck and he made a good deduction. “You’re trying to keep your language clean for your daughter.”

“Yes! Lately, I seem to be failing but I’ll get better! Oh, that reminds me…you will also have to clean up your own potty mouth, Sherlock.”

Sherlock simply stared at him before carefully as well as easily lying to his best friend. “Sure, John, I’ll be happy to watch my potty language especially around your little…sweet angel.”

As he said the words he was already plotting to see if he could teach John’s spawn the words ‘shit’ and ‘fuck’ first thing out of the gate. Perhaps she’d learn them before she ever learned ‘papa’ or ‘mummy’…yet more importantly he needed to do all this without Mary finding out.

“Ta, mate, I’d appreciate it,” John stated, actually sounding genuinely thankful. _The idiot_.

“Oh, _happy_ to help,” Sherlock replied almost dryly. Feeling completely unrepentant. “What else are friends for?”

“Well, they are _not_ meant to be blamed for one’s brutal, savage torture. Not good, Sherlock, not good at all!”

Sherlock pouted. His dear friend did not understand! He gathered the covers tighter around him before muttering, “I said ‘mostly’ not that it was. Perhaps you should get your hearing checked.”

John groaned before he quickly punched his pillow a couple of times, never once pulling his punches…Sherlock had a feeling that his own face was mentally attached to that pillow. John slammed the back of his head down on it before glaring at him. “So…going to tell me _why_ it was ‘mostly’ my bloody fucking fault?”

“Oooo, potty mouth!” Sherlock quickly reminded him, even pointing a finger of shame at him.

“Piss. Off. Talk. To. Me,” he bit out each word furiously.

“You told me that I needed to _try_ harder to be _nice_ to any possible clients that come to my flat,” Sherlock reminded him.

“If I recall correctly I said that after you slammed a possible client’s face into a table…then you chased him about the room and out the door with a riding crop! You are lucky he didn’t call the police!” John simply reminded him right back.

Sherlock shrugged. “He wouldn’t have. That blasted man wanted me to find his wife, yes, but not because he loved her. He was a violent man and thought her nothing more than his sex toy. She willingly left him after he nearly beat her and did horribly sadistic sexual things, which she was not willing to experience ever again. He wanted to hurt her and punish her for daring to leave him…perhaps even murder her so no one else could ever have her. That…that arse wanted to use _my_ talent, my special skills, and _my art_ , John…to destroy another person who simply wanted to live without pain and without fear, that bastard! Screw being **_nice_**!”

John was silent for a long moment before Sherlock was ready to speak once more and when he did…his voice was thick and rough. “I know it was not your fault that I was tortured. _I know that_! However, I am so bloody angry! I’m not even sure why…I fear something is very wrong with me.”

“Understandable that you would feel this way, Sherlock. You have been through hell—“

Sherlock cut off whatever else John had been about to say by placing his hand over his mouth. Needing to shut him up…Needing John to _listen_ for a moment…just for a moment…

“I’m feeling things I don’t like feeling,” Sherlock growled darkly, almost furiously at his friend. “Feelings, John, can lie and they…they hold no logic!”

Slowly, carefully, he removed his hand from John’s lips. Looking into his best friend’s wise eyes. For an odd moment, he wondered if John could actually _see_ his very soul. Did he even have one? If he did was it completely damaged beyond repair?

John, his dear friend…He knew it was completely impossible but there were times that Sherlock would swear that John could see far more than he ever could.

John slowly opened his mouth and waited a second to see if Sherlock would move to shut him up once again. When he did not, he said, “Not all feelings are lies, Sherlock. Some of them are quite truthful. You do a damn fine job of burying them deep but it doesn’t make them any less real or even lies. By burying them so deep down it doesn’t even kill them. They just end up waiting…Moving slowly back up, sometimes to take revenge. Now, those feelings that you don’t want…obviously…no longer wish to wait.”

Sherlock sighed. “I don’t understand and I fear your idiot side is revealing itself quite colorfully.”

John shrugged and waited.

“Moriarty’s brother…” Sherlock began on a whisper, looking quickly away from John to the dull looking ceiling before continuing in a normal tone. “I went to see a man about a case. It, um, sounded interesting for a six. The man asked to make an appointment to see me privately and to ask if my flat was wheelchair accessible.” He shot a quick look at John before stating pointedly, “You know the answer to that.”

John, of course, nodded in confirmation. For yes, he knew quite well that 221 B Baker Street was nowhere close to being wheelchair friendly.

“So, I played at being _nice_. Because you once asked be to try it sometime!” Sherlock growled at him giving his friend a good ‘I could really hit you’ glare before he continued, “So, I agreed to meet somewhere other than Baker Street.”

Sherlock suddenly sighed, looking away before he continued…needing to continue…

“The case sounded interesting enough. An elderly man said he was recently out of prison after serving time for his wife’s murder. The thing is he could never remember doing it yet the evidence was there…but sometimes he wondered if he had been framed for the crime. He told me that at the time, he was a drunkard but he had never been a violent drunk…Yet, one morning he woke up with a hell of a hangover, no memory of the night before and his wife brutally stabbed beside him in their bed. He said that if I could take a look at it…being the famous detective that I am…maybe I’d see something the police missed. Even if the case was considered closed and solved. If I told him that he did indeed do this horrible deed that he has already served countless years for…than he’d accept it…but if it was someone else…if he had just staggered into the bedroom never noticing his wife’s slain body…well…he’d pay me well and he just needed to know the truth. Was he really a murderer? He gave me so many compliments and then wondered if all he had heard about me was true…I was an idiot like you, taken in by flattery and a well-placed dare.”

Knowing Sherlock so well, all John did was roll his eyes before saying dryly, “Gee, to think all this trouble started with me just saying how you could try to be nice.”

“Correct!” Sherlock confirmed.

“Heaven forbid, you call me and see if I’d be interested in tagging along.”

“I’m sure Mary would have told me that you couldn’t come out and play, maybe later…plus, the case was likely a six…perhaps even a five, remember?”

John made a noise deep within his throat and the great consulting detective decided he didn’t even need to pause as he continued the grand yet stupid details of his capture. “I was set upon by a few thugs when I went to call upon the man in question. To be honest, I was having a delightful time practicing my bareknuckle boxing. I’m quite good at that, by the way. The wonderful time I was having came to a close when one of those big arse bastards jabbed me with a needle full of a powerful sleeping drug that burned like hell. Completely knocked me on my arse but not before calling them something vulgar and showing them my great displeasure with a certain finger in their direction.”

“Then you were taken to a lovely, lonely little cottage out in the country to be tortured by Moriarty’s brother,” John finished for him.

Sherlock nodded before quickly adding, “Savagely. Where I was _savagely_ tortured. Do please remember that. Plus, it’s no surprise I was taken out to the country…for bad things always happen out in the countryside. There is a falsehood that something so beautiful and peace can’t hold evil…trust me, John, it can.”

John solemnly nodded before saying in a completely dry manner, “Right. Well…in the end we, Molly, Mary and I rescued you…so…some good came out of this…the whole mistake I made in asking you to be more nice to people. That’s my bad, sorry.”

“Of course, you are forgiven,” Sherlock informed his friend gracefully and mercifully with an elegant wave of his hand…almost as if he was royalty allowing one of his men a silly little cockup…allowing just that _one_ , however.

Both men then laid there in bed in an oddly enough comfortable silence before John decided to speak once more. “Um, I’ve been meaning to tell you…as a friend, mind you…that the other day…and yes, you were still in a mood from all that has happened to you—“

“Brutally tortured, remember? What did you think I should be dancing around the flat singing show tunes?”

“No, no…I did wonder about seeing a client so soon after everything…”

Sherlock snorted before he spoke in disgust, “You would rather I die of pure boredom? Or find a needle?”

John glared at him. “Don’t.”

Sherlock quickly looked away. Suddenly feeling a bit ashamed at the next words of, ‘perhaps you should try it sometime’, that almost left his mouth…yet, a strange wisdom prevailed. His lips remained closed.

John’s however did not. After a moment, he continued, “That woman who came to you for advice…Well, I don’t think it was appropriate telling her that she should simply kill the man in question and bury him in her garden for he’d obviously make much better fertilizer than he ever make as a lover…Not good, Sherlock, not good. What if she does kill him and tells the police it was your idea?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, turning his head to look at his friend once more. “Oh, please. She’d never kill anyone. Pay someone to do it for her, sure, though doubtful for she’d fear being caught. Hell, she pays someone else to pick up her toy poodle’s crap for sanity’s sake! Did you notice those long nails, the expensive suit and the shoes alone cost over two thousand quid…and did you see little Basil’s dog collar? Those were real diamonds my friend. The man she is seeing is indeed a fortune hunter! There is a part of her that knows this! Yet she came to me for advice…that is what she said… _advice_ …she didn’t want me to investigate this man…she never once said, ‘solve him like you would your mysteries, Mr. Holmes’…NO! No, let me tell you something John, now I may not always understand women but when some of them ask or pay for advice…they will not follow it. They don’t want to, even if it’s for their own good. They honestly think they know better but they want to hear what they want to hear not the honest truth. I’d have better luck giving advice to a crow about to fly into a clear glass window and she, John, was one of those women!”

“Okay, I completely understand,” John whispered next to him. “So, what do you _really_ want to talk about?”

Sherlock sighed as he shifted upon the bed, wondering how to explain. “This is not the first time I was tortured, you know…”

He didn’t need to see John to know his whole body had stiffened before responding with, “No, I didn’t know.”

Sherlock closed his eyes before nodding and just for a moment he was there…in that cold room…hanging from chains…

He was surprised to find his mouth was now dry and his throat annoyingly tight. It seemed to take forever for him to find his voice once more…but he did…

“Right before I returned…to…to give you that miracle you had longed for…“ Sherlock begin in a low, raw voice.

_‘I got you out…’_ Mycroft’s voice spoke within his mind to help shatter that memory of a past torture. As if to remind him it was best to stay in the present…

He remembered how he had told his brother how he had gotten himself out. Not wanting to admit to having needed his brother…or the shame that Mycroft had found him. Caught. Beaten. Half naked, hung from chains…Hating that his know-it-all brother would have never found himself in such a situation. Riding in like a fucking white knight. A fat annoying white knight that needed to go throw himself into a lake somewhere!

Sherlock had been in such physical pain…and Mycroft had witnessed that…damn, him and there Sherlock had been all--

“Sherlock, why didn’t you tell me?” John’s voice thankfully carried him away from those memories…away from the pain and away from the man who always to be more brilliant than him…God, why couldn’t he hate his brother as much as he kept swearing he did?

“I didn’t want your bloody pity!” Sherlock responded almost darkly and with a hint of a growl. Actually, he didn’t want his friend to think him a weak fool…to know he could be vulnerable…though now…John had found him in far worse condition than when his brother had sat there waiting to see when his torturer would decide to call it quits for the day.

“I used my science of deduction on my torturer the first time around. **_I_** made him stop and leave me alone…Made him leave the room in fact. _Not_ my dear brother but **_me_**. I told the man about his wife who was having an affair with the coffin maker. There’s a strong possibility that my actions caused a homicide. I didn’t dare stick around to find out nor did I ask my brother after he told me that it was time to come back home.”

He paused, feeling that old sharp anger…His brother may have helped get him home but Sherlock had stopped the torture and Mycroft…had simply sat there…waiting…how long would he have let the torture go on?

Maybe Mycroft was waiting to see how and if Sherlock could take back control of the situation…Maybe he knew Sherlock would do exactly what he did…deduce…Use his art to gain a way out…and he had. Maybe Mycroft knew Sherlock would never have forgiven him for not letting him gain back control of the situation…

However, Moriarty’s brother refused to allow Sherlock the upper hand…to gain back any control whatsoever…perhaps that is why he escaped into his mind…the one place he had always felt in control.

That man hadn’t cared what Sherlock had brilliantly deduced about him or his men…Nope, Moriarty’s brother was filled with too much bitterness and hatred…He blamed Sherlock fully for his younger brother’s death…he lived and breathed for revenge…It didn’t seem to matter that his little brother had been a brilliant criminal mastermind with a serious death wish and lived in fear of boredom. The things Moriarty had done and the odd deep respect Sherlock held him in…or the twisted dark wish that Moriarty was still alive out there somewhere…making things interesting and keeping the beating heart of the great game alive…however…in Moriarty’s brother’s eyes Sherlock had pulled the trigger and staged it all to look like a suicide.

“When Moriarty’s brother had me…There was a moment where I became sharply aware of the serious possibility that I was going to die,” Sherlock continued in a cold matter-of-fact way, as if he was a scientist talking about an old lab experiment that had been a waste of everyone’s time. If John hadn’t known him so well, Sherlock was certain that he would easily believe that his torture at the hands of a madman hadn’t bothered him at all…that it was all just another day in the life of Sherlock Holmes.

However, John knew him quite well…so well in fact that his dear friend _would_ know his torture and near death had bothered him greatly. John had learned well to see clearly when Sherlock was attempting to pull the wool over his eyes…there were times, Sherlock felt certain the good doctor wanted to be fooled. Now was not one of those moments.

“I’m thankful that you didn’t die,” John informed him with such raw emotion and honesty that Sherlock almost growled and snapped something heartless and cruel, perhaps like a wounded animal would in hopes it wouldn’t show any weakness.

Instead, Sherlock spoke once more as if his best friend had never spoken for really, he had no intention of handling John’s emotional crap right now.

“Sometimes I use my mind palace to remember important things…things that help me solve cases…and sometimes when I use drugs I…Well, I can keep my mind from being bored by creating worlds to solve old crimes…mysteries and what not…But this time I didn’t need certain drugs…I, um, I was in incredible pain and with the slow blood loss…My brain took me somewhere different…perhaps to escape the pain…I-I don’t really know…All I know is that it took me to…” Sherlock stopped to take a deep breath and exhaled slowly before admitting to John, softly ever so softly, “Molly.”

Silence followed as Sherlock stared at his friend’s boring as hell ceiling. Not wishing to look at the man whose gaze seemed so focused on him. His fingers tightened, still clenching the soft bedding he held. He had no choice but to continue, “If I was going to die, which I began to believe I was…I…I wanted to see her one last time. To me that seems a bit illogical but…that is where my mind went...”

“It was where you wanted to be…or at least where your heart wished to be,” John told him, not at all guessing. He spoke the words carefully as if worried about his reaction.

Sherlock snorted, “As if I have a heart…”

“As your doctor, I can safely say with all honesty and without a doubt that you do have one. Otherwise, you would be famous in the medical field if you were still living without one and not hooked to some machine. You’d quite possibly be nothing more than a lab rat in a secret government building somewhere. However, Sherlock, you do have one…even one that can beat with some emotion…Is that what bothers you? That while you were being tortured…your heart went to her for…safety…for a brief moment of happiness? Is it because it was Molly and not someone else? I’d be more concern if it had been Mycroft your heart took you to…”

John Watson was a smart man and wise man…

He should yell at him about how wrong he was…but…

“Actually Mycroft had been there…ruining things, mucking them up…Though let’s not take a deep look into that, shall we?” The consulting detective answered darkly, still annoyed with his brother and now with John. “ _Anyway_ …” he said pointedly needing the conversation to get back on track. “I found Molly there in my head…a-and…I was attempting to relive the moment we met…and perhaps change it a little bit…or a lot by, um…having a special moment together.”

“Special moment?” John repeated curiously.

“When I first met Molly,” Sherlock continued, “I knew…I instantly knew I could receive whatever I wished from her…by…well, by being…”

“A bastard?”

“Shut up! But yes, pretty much. I knew she seriously liked me and a nice complement could get me any body part I wished…I knew I could use her as a tool to help solve cases…or to do experiments or even to help keep boredom away. She was useful and met my needs fully, I did not however need to meet any of her needs.”  

“You are a complete arse, you do know this right?”

“Yes.” Sherlock answered John’s question as if it had no serious meaning. It was simply him being honest. “Somewhere along the line I found that I held no desire to manipulate her any longer. I find that despite the part that tried not to…I do indeed care about her…greatly. I found that I couldn’t stop it and I fear I no longer want it stopped.”

Both men were silent for a long moment before Sherlock continued, briefly wondering why he felt like talking. There were times he fell into a dark mood and didn’t talk for days on end…Today did not look like it would be one of those days…

“The first day I met Molly Hooper was the very day I claimed her as my own personal pathologist. For there she was being all clever and excited about the fact that she had been clever. She had found some blood on an already ‘sliced and diced’ corpse…The body had been stabbed over twenty times and yet she had found a couple of spots of blood that had not belonged to that person. She had tested it and found the murder’s DNA. I was impressed…for with a body covered with blood, she didn’t assume all of it belonged to the victim. John, you should have seen her…she moved as if she was dancing and she radiated with joy. I will admit to being speechless for a moment for I was surprised…she looked so beautiful and smart that I found myself for a moment wondering if I really should remain married to my work. Only for a moment, mind you. She ruined it by telling me a stupid joke about Humpty Dumpty.”

“Oh, right, _she_ ruined it completely when I image you were being yourself aka complete and total arsehole.” John’s tone was heavy with sarcasm before waiting a beat before asking curiously... “The, um, joke about Humpty Dumpty wasn’t the one about his death being the very first government conspiracy, right?”

Sherlock shot him a confused look. “No.”

“Are you sure? The joke I heard had the King murdering Humpty Dumpty and covering it up. Why else would **_all_ ** the King’s horses end up getting involved? I mean how can bloody horses help put an egg back together?”

“Okay, I don’t really see the joke in that but that wasn’t it…it was something about a vegan hate crime,” Sherlock attempted to explain, though the conspiracy theory John brought up did make—NO! No, they were not talking about a stupid nursery rhyme!

“Oh! The king could have been _vegan_!” John actually sounded excited by the possibility.

“John…Shut up, just shut up,” Sherlock ordered his best friend firmly.

John chuckled as if he had been pulling his leg the whole damn time…before Sherlock found himself joining in as well. Two men laughing like little boys getting into mischief…

When the laughter died, Sherlock lifted the blankets to his own face, pushing down hard with a groan.

He heard John mutter something about a damn drama queen.

“So, Molly…” John decided to get the conversation back on track…Perhaps secretly hoping that once Sherlock is done talking he’ll go away so he could get some sleep.

Sherlock removed the blanket from his face with a growl explaining, “The Molly in my head ordered me to live. So I did.”

“That’s it? Seriously? You woke me at 2:18 in the fucking morning to tell me that?!”

“No! You stupid arse!” Sherlock growled right back at him. “There I was dying and there Molly was! Looking all beautiful and only wearing a lab coat with a very loose button! And…and now, I can’t seem to get my mind palace Molly to wear anything else! She refuses to wear anything else! The one in my mind refused me, John, in fact she innocently asked me if I wanted her to take it off and walk around as a nudist! Forcing me to run out of my mind palace as I’ve never ran before…And then there is the _real_ Molly…the one with flour dusting her breasts and all the bending over she’s been doing lately…Okay, mostly I’ve been dropping things so she would have a reason to bend over, but really that’s not the point! Yesterday, John, yesterday she was doing yoga while I worked a simple case that should have been solved in less than an hour…however, I didn’t solve it until a couple of hours after she was done! Mostly, because I couldn’t stop staring and trying to look like I wasn’t staring, all the while she stretched and bent her body in certain ways that I never realized was erotic until…until…”

“When you say erotic, do you mean she was doing yoga naked?” John asked curiously before quickly adding, “Because I’ve heard that’s a new big thing now.”

“What? NO! Stop putting those thoughts in my head!”

“Hmm, I bet Molly looks real good doing the dolphin.”

Sherlock reached over and smacked his friend hard. Real hard.

“Ow!”

“You are a married man!” Sherlock reminded him with a dark scowl. “To an assassin! Now stop thinking of _my_ Molly in naked yoga positions…in fact stop thinking of her in any positions!”

“I’m married, Sherlock, not dead! She’s a lovey looking woman. One I have no desire to make advances towards…I felt that way even before I met my wife!”

“Really, why?” Sherlock asked, for he was Sherlock Holmes and it was his business to know everything.

“Because a blind man could clearly see who her heart belonged to…and in case you are completely unsure about who I’m speaking of…it’s **_you_** , you git!” John explained.

“I’m not a blind man…I just preferred to ignore it,” Sherlock quickly pointed out. Though there was an odd time or two he wondered if he had been blind about so many things…Like how much Molly met to him.

“Why ignore it?” John asked curiously. “Do you find that her breasts are too small because there is surgery that can fix that?”

“What!? NO!” Sherlock’s shocked tone sounded highly offended as he felt a sudden urge to run to Molly’s flat and check personally that those breasts of hers where still there, lovely and perfect.

It took a moment to realize that John was just fucking with him. Damn him.

John shrugged completely unconcerned.

Sherlock sucked in some air, reminding himself not to explode into violence for there was a baby in the residence. It took some time before admitting out loud to his friend and to himself these words, “I want her.”

John eyed him distrustfully before asking quite seriously, “Do you mean for some sick and twisted case that will end up with her hitting you in a violent manner? Or pouring petrol on your groin and lighting it?”

Sherlock blinked at him, to be honest in a stunned like manner. “No.”

“For some cruel experiment that will most likely have you arrested?”

“No.”

“Well, what do you want her for?” John asked still eyeing him…before lowering his voice in a low, soft ‘don’t want to get caught talking in class with teacher nearby’ kind of tone. “Sex? Do you want her for…sex, Sherlock?”

“More,” Sherlock answered in pretty much the same whisper that John had used. Being completely honest with him.

“More as in… ** _Relationship_**? Oh, you’re just fucking with me, aren’t you?” the good doctor asked, voice still incredibly low.

“No,” Sherlock whispered right back. “Though it would be pretty damn funny, if I was. Sadly, I’m not.”

“You sure?” John now asked this in a normal tone after a moment of brief silence.

“Yes.”

“So…You are not just saying this?” John couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m not just saying this! I want Molly Hooper! When she left Baker Street to go back to her flat I actually didn’t want her to go! I…I wanted her to stay…Not just to keep her safe…but to be…there. Before she left I told her it might be a good idea to move in with her cat…Her _cat_ , John, her cat…living with me…with us. Sure, I told her it was just while the threat of Moriarty’s brother was out there…but really that was just an excuse…and, um, I think I could keep coming up with excuses to kept her there with me even long after I have dealt with that crazy S.O.B.”

“Really? You actually want Molly Hooper? You’re just messing with me right? Ow! Bloody hell, Sherlock…No need to hit me! “

“You dare to repeatedly ask me if I’m serious! Here I am doing this bloody talking thing that you have been telling me for years is so damn important and when I do com—“

John cut Sherlock off. “Listen you Tosser, you have been known to lie and deceive and manipulate better than any conman that has ever existed. You know damn well you can be pretty damn heartless and cruel…and Molly damn well doesn’t deserve that! So, yes, Sherlock, I’m going to keep asking until I’m satisfied. Are you serious? Do you love her? Because if you don’t, if you are playing for shits and giggles… _you will lose her_. Forever. And you will deserve spending the rest of your life alone. Personally, I don’t want you to be alone for all your days…but, it’s your life…Just don’t be fucking with Molly’s life and heart. She deserves better…needs better. So, tell me…honestly…Do you love her?”

~*~End of Part 9~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you are enjoying and would like more…


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here's another part! 
> 
> A huge thank you goes out to the lovely and completely wonderful lilsherlockian1975, A who looked this story over and helped make this better. However any mistakes you find are indeed mine and mine alone. Hey, I'm not perfect nor do I think I will ever be.
> 
> A thank you goes out to everyone who hit the kudos and to glitterkitty4ever, Rebecca789, Icecat62 for the reviews. You rock.
> 
> A Note: Percy ‘Tadpole’ Phelps is a character that comes from the Sherlock Holmes original story, ‘The Naval Treaty’. In the story ‘Tadpole’ sends a note to old school chum Dr. John Watson. Tadpole is ill and needs help finding a treaty or there could be a war. In this story one of my favorite lines has Watson remembering how he use to ‘chivy him about the playground and hit him over the shins with a wicket.’ Aw, good old Watson! In my story I thought it would be fun if Sherlock knew Tadpole instead. Hey, if I can have Molly kill Victor…then…
> 
> Oh, and I'm sorry there is a longer note down at the bottom but not in the space that I was suppose to write it. Thought it would be much too long, but still interesting...

~*~And So Beats A Gentle Heart~*~

~*~PART 10~*~

_‘…I loved with such a love as comes only once in a lifetime.’_

_-_ The Priory School Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

_‘My dear Holmes, you are joking.’_

_‘No, Watson, I am very serious.’_

_-_ Thor Bridge by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

_‘But what do you intend to do?’_

_-_ The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

Sherlock stared at John. While John stared right back. Never once looking away.

Damn it all, he had tried to close himself off from emotions so long ago…yet, emotions still found cracks to flood and overwhelm him. Emotions made him helpless, and Sherlock never liked being helpless.

**_Never._ **

Finally, Sherlock spoke, low and soft… “Seeing how I’m known to lie and deceive and manipulate…and if I tell you…how would you know it to be truth or not?”

John tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at him. “You are not denying this…”

“That I can lie, deceive and manipulate, no I’m not.”

“No, I mean…That you love Molly Hooper.”

Sherlock was silent. Too silent. His sharp eyes never blinking at his friend. His friend however did blink and sigh. Deeply and loudly.

“Would it really be such a colossal error to admit that you love her?” John asked, with a slight edge to his voice. As if there was something wrong with his friend.

Sherlock looked away, as his fingers ruthlessly dig in and out of the blankets his hands held.

“I don’t know, John…I never thought I’d ever tell someone…such…such an intimate thing…and…and mean it! I don’t do vulnerable unless I need to fake it…and…perhaps it would be a colossal error to admit such a thing. Hard enough to have to admit such silliness to oneself but to admit such a thing to the other person…I-I don’t know what to do! I use to ignore it quite well but lately…ignoring it feels _wrong_! And I don’t like being wrong John! You are right, Molly deserves better. I am who I am. I can be cruel. I can easily lie and deceive and manipulate…they are weapons that help me be such a brilliant detective. Somewhere along the line of knowing Molly I found, to my dismay, that I no longer want to lie, or manipulate or even deceive _her_ anymore…I don’t understand how or even why that happened or even how it came about…I just know I…I care…deeply…more than that even…”

“Say the words, Sherlock,” John demanded quietly. “Just say the words.”

Sherlock looked back at him not knowing that confusion was there in his eyes as well as something else…Something raw and rarely seen from the legendary consulting detective. He swallowed a sudden lump before asking, “Shouldn’t Molly hear them first?”

“Will she ever hear them?” John asked right back before giving his friend an uncertain smile. “It would make it all more real to speak those words out loud, wouldn’t it?”

Sherlock couldn’t find the words to say but his gaze remained firmly fixed on John’s. It was a long moment but John finally nodded slowly…as if he understood.

“Oh, Sherlock for a brilliant man…” John seemed to sigh these words before he spoke in a normal tone, “You are who and what you are. You are different and unique but you are still a man. A bastard at times, yes, but then again who isn’t? Heh, I know you, know all your bad points and I still care deeply about you. Molly does too. We both love you…in different ways, of course. We love your good points and accept your bad points. You have a small group of people that accept this about you. You are the bravest and the wisest man I’ve ever known…Okay, the whole ‘wisest’ comment might be pushing it a bit…but…if anyone can have an honest, goodness relationship with Molly and make it work… _you can_. I know you can, even if for once you found an area that you are unfamiliar with.”

Sherlock blinked before asking hopefully, “Really? Do you really think so?”

John shrugged. “Sure, why not? As long as you aren’t using Molly to make sure dust doesn’t gather on your dick…I don’t see why not.”

“John—“

“And whatever you do, don’t test poisons on her…that’s never good to any relationship! Don’t think I don’t know about that time you gave me snake venom and waited until my arm was purple and black and I was sweating on the sofa _dying_ before you gave me the cure!”

“I wasn’t going to let you die!”

“Not my point, you bloody git!” John growled darkly at him…yes, he actually growled! He then took a deep breath before saying in a calm yet exhausted tone, “I’m thrilled that for once you are actually acting like a human being instead of some rod up the arse machine! Great! I’m happy for you. Hell, I want you to be happy. I believe you could indeed make things work with Molly. You two could make a fine lovely couple…You’d just have to want too…Like the time you decided to get a roommate. I know the truth about that…I deduced it years ago. I was surprised but…the facts were all there and they were this…You never once actually **needed** a roommate.”

“Well…I wouldn’t say that—“

“I am saying it, Sherlock, because it’s the honest to God’s truth. You never once needed someone to help you pay the rent…and at first I was barely able to do that. You had wealth, that coat and those clothes you wear tells me that…As well as when you open that wallet of yours to pay for information there are quite a lot of notes inside of it. I know you were already planning to move into 221 B Baker Street long before you told Mike that you were thinking of sharing a flat. You told me that Mrs. Hudson’s rent was low because she owed you for the help you gave her years ago…But you could afford whatever price she had given. I also know that when there is something wrong with or in that building you have been known to give her the money to fix it. You were already moved in and unpacking your stuff when I came to look at the flat! To this day I’ve never figured out what made you decide to have someone live with you. What made you decide to give it a try? Hmm? Maybe you were curious and a bit bored when you came up with that idea. Maybe you were doing an experiment to see how soon you could push a stranger into committing a homicide. I honestly don’t know, but I do know that at the end of the day you choose me…You choose to let me into your life and share your adventures. I don’t regret it, none of it, Sherlock…no matter how many times you have hurt me, horrified me or just been a general major pain in the arse…And now…you can choose Molly…Just as I don’t regret it…I doubt you or her will either.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment as if thoughtful before he inhaled deeply…then, and only then did he admit, “No, I didn’t need a roommate…but…I was curious…and…well, a couple of months before we met there was an incident. I-It may have involved drugs and a small stay in a hospital…My brother said that he was tempted to find me a keeper…or a help mate…that if push came to shove I was going to be forced into becoming _his_ roommate. That…thought wasn’t pleasant at all…but I started to wonder. What would that be like if I had someone live with me…Would that even be possible? I found myself telling a few people that I was looking. Most said it was impossible….and one muttered something about me being too much of a freak for that to ever work out well. I’m not sure what made me decide to tell Mike that I was looking for someone to share my lodgings…but I did…even though there was a second there that I almost didn’t…”

Sherlock bit his lower lip before continuing carefully, “I’m glad I did.”

“Me too.”

He gifted John a small genuine smile.

John grinned as well before stating in an arrogant manner. “I’m what you like.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and attempted to frown at him.

John’s smile became cocky…the bastard.

“Oh…Shut up!” Sherlock finally growled.

“Go, on…say it…” John seemed to be taking great delight in this.

“Why should I say it when you know it’s true?” The great detective questioned.

“Aww, I can almost forgive you for waking me up so bloody early…”

“I don’t always wake you up…when you lived with me, and I couldn’t sleep…nor would you allow me to play my violin…I use to stand beside your bed while in your bedroom and watch you sleep.”

John’s smile faded quickly. “Okay, that’s creepy.”

“Really? So if I told you that I still sometimes break in just to stand in your room and watch you sleep?” Sherlock decided to ask curiously.

“That’s…that’s got to stop, Sherlock for…for…if Mary ever catches you…”

“Oh, please…she caught me the first time I did it. Why do you think she leaves a beverage and a bag of crisps on her nightstand…it’s for when I stop by…and then in the darkness we whisper a few words and stare at you while eating crisps…She has even helped me come up with creative and cringe worthy ways to kill my brother…and your sister…as well as that arse of a neighbor across the way. I really enjoy those nights. At times it’s the highlight of my evening. It’s nice that Mary understands that this is how you and I can spend time ‘bonding’ with each other and keep our relationship ‘fresh and interesting’.”

John was silent for a long moment before asking, “Did you get some of that from a book?”

“Of course, I took the book in question from Molly while she was attempting to read it. It was interesting. Mostly about a crazy fictional serial killer wanting to ‘bond’ with his victims…but I’m certain I…who is very real and not at all fictional nor a serial killer…though really if I was I’d do a far better job than that idiot…can stand in the dark staring at my ‘real’ best friend and not come off as ‘creepy’. Plus, after a long stressful day it’s nice to show up and watch you breathe. There are so many others out there that I would be quite joyous if they weren’t breathing…or come up with creative ways to _stop_ their breathing.”

_“Jesus…”_ John breathed when Sherlock finished explaining himself.

Sherlock couldn’t help but feel confused by why they were bringing _him_ into their conversation. Sometimes his best friend made no sense…perhaps John had been dropped on his head a few times too many as a young toddler.

Not that he was judging, of course.

Well, it was time to get this conversation back on his own problems and needs…right? How else could John be useful to him?

“Let’s come back to why I woke you, John. I don’t like sentiment…nor do I do it well, to be perfectly honest,” Sherlock admitted to him, his voice low and soft.

John sighed before looking him straight in the eyes. “It is what it is, Sherlock. Just be brave enough to accept it. Stop fighting it or ignoring it. Obviously that won’t work…I honestly don’t think you will ever regret having a serious relationship with Molly…but even if one day you do—“

“It is what it is,” Sherlock finished for him.

“Yeah…I know you, Sherlock. I know there was a time you kept everyone from ever becoming too close to you. You were probably even happy and even accepted that you were alone. Always alone…but one day _you_ decided to change that. You told Mike, in that careless way that you have, that you were ready for a change and he happened to be listening. And now you have a best friend that enjoys watching you be brilliant and feels perfectly alive when going on adventures with you…And once you were perfectly happy being married to your work…and to never know love or have a woman actually touch your cock…Now, that’s also changed. You are ready…So…Crack on with it and let a new father get some precious sleep!”

There was times Sherlock wished John would stop making things about him…but he did understand what he was saying.

“And if things go well,” John continued almost cheerfully. “I will be happy and honored to be your best man.”

Sherlock snorted. “Oh, please! If that ever happens I’m going to have Tadpole do it.”

John was now giving him a cold glare. “ ** _Tadpole?_** …Who the hell is Tadpole…if you say it’s your favorite dealer I’m punching you hard in the face.”

Sherlock almost laughed out loud before he said seriously, “No, he’s not my dealer…has nothing to do with drugs…well, that’s a lie he did get mixed up with some prescription pills and went to rehab a couple of times. He hasn’t taken it in years. Almost six years in fact. He was a boy I went to school with…while everyone called me ‘freak’ and seemed to have a strong dislike about me…He never did. He was a sickly and weak boy…almost fragile and was an easy target for bullies…it didn’t help that he’d shout… ‘Do you know who my father is? My family?’ Personally I didn’t care much about him because he was a bit of a snob…However one day I told a group of his bullies to go away and stop it…They were holding down his head in the fountain and I had been sitting there….attempting to read an ancient book that I had ‘borrowed’ from the library and didn’t want it wet. From that day forward Tadpole thought we were best mates…he’d follow me around and later I realized that his family had a lot of connections…serious connections…he had bastard blood of several European royal lines upon his family tree…One day I can use him and his family for a case. I just know it! Once or twice a year we still talk by email…he’s a complete bore and an annoying twat, but he thinks I’m a dear childhood friend. Shows how idiotic he is…now you on the other hand are indeed my _best_ friend and I can always use you to help solve a case…Plus, maybe he’ll say no, doubtful but I’m still keeping my fingers crossed that the right case will come along so he’ll be useful for once.”

Sherlock quickly held up his crossed fingers and whispered with his eyes lit up. “ _Triple_ homicide…”

“Sherlock…” John growled.

Sherlock cut him off, “I can’t use _your_ family for a case, now can I? And I don’t mean Mary and your daughter…No, your family tree has nothing but doctors and those that enjoyed serving in the military. They are a bit boring. Sure, your great Aunt killed your Uncle and his mistress—“

“Wait, what?!”

“Yep, trust me, she murdered them and did you know that a hundred years ago your great, great, great, great grandmother spent _years_ pretending to be a man so she could be a doctor? At first your great, great, great, great grandfather was **_very_** confused. Otherwise, your family tree is not very useful to me and quite boring…Though you did have one relative rumored to have relations with a neighbor’s goat in the 1700’s.”    

John was silent but Sherlock could hear his teeth grinding. So he continued, thinking he understood what bothered his dear friend. “It was just a rumor of course. Though he was run out of the village…The day he ran…he stole the neighbor’s goat. Showing that no matter what a Watson is always loyal.”

“Shut up, just shut up,” John finally snapped.

“But you are supposed to help me!” Sherlock snapped right back.

“I already gave you advice you bloody fool!” John told him in a harsh tone. “You love Molly…tell her and show her…be in a commented relationship with her. You are no longer married to your work. Accept the fact that plans don’t always work out like you would like or even plan…Kind of like that James Hadfield in that documentary I watched the other day. Things didn’t go as planned for him…in fact things went to pot.”

Sherlock gave him a long look. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Well, in the early 1800’s he was a very depressed man and he thought day and night about how to off himself…however, he didn’t want his family to deal with that shame or such a scandal. So he came up with a crazy sodding plan. He decided to have England kill him and buy the rope to do him in. Hadfield took a loaded pistol to the theater where the king was expected to be. He fired at the King…Some to this day are uncertain if he was actually aiming at him or even was trying to kill him…Still…” John trailed off with a shrug.

“And the government hanged him. Boring, John.”

“Actually, no…The judge of the case declared the man clearly insane and sent Hadfield to spend the rest of his life in an insane asylum…” John informed him calmly as if telling a bedtime story.

Sherlock blinked. “Ouch, if he wasn’t insane before…”

“Yeah, it’s all completely mental.” John said quite dryly before they shared a look…before they both chuckled like mischievous schoolboys.

“So, I know I’m not mental…” Sherlock responded after a moment of silence. “I…I think I’ll be brave where it comes to Molly. Let her know…”

John nodded. “Good. Proud of you.”

“Well, you know what this means right?” You are going to have to make me a list on how to court and keep _my_ Molly. Don’t leave anything out. Make it good and not as boring as your blog. Perhaps you should color code the things to do and not to do…Oh! Maybe even little stars? Five being the highest...” Sherlock sounded a bit too excited over this idea.

“Sherlock—“

“I tried to google how to court Molly and found nothing but porn sites and something called fanfiction. There was even some video of a cat named Molly who was clearly on catnip trying to do something odd with a tiny dog…”

“Seriously?”

“I wish I was lying but I’m not. It creeped me out, however I found I couldn’t look away…Kind of like that time we both watched that YouTube video…the one where someone made that beach bag with nothing but duct tape…The person made it interesting by speeding up the tape.”

John sighed. “No, I mean do you really want me to make a list?”

“Damn it all, John, I need help! Why the bloody hell do you think I woke you up! Shit and giggles? Now, help me!” Sherlock demanded.

John muttered something dark and ugly…After that Sherlock suspected he was slowly counting to ten. He quietly counted with him because really if anyone was in need of counting to keep from strangling someone it was him! Sometimes John could be so damn annoying.

When he reached ten, John breathed in deep before locking his wisdom-filled eyes upon Sherlock.

“Be honest with her, mate, completely…Like you are right now. There is a chance she’ll get angry thinking you are being cruel dickhead…But just keep speaking from your heart and then you should kiss her.”

“That’s it? Are you sure, John?” Sherlock asked worriedly. That sounded far too simple.

“Yep, just remember—“

“Be myself.” Sherlock quickly guessed cutting John off.

“Oh, God, no…Um, I was going to say ‘no means no’ it’s best to remember that,” John replied seriously.

“I would never push her if she said no!” Sherlock couldn’t help but tell his friend, feeling deeply offended.

“Good. Also, if she tells you that she needs some time…do that, let her feel as if she has room to think. Tell her you will respect that…but ask permission to send her flowers…or emailing her…reminding her that she’s your world…that you find her beautiful…After a while perhaps you two might try some sex texting. Though don’t send her pictures of junk…keep that a mystery until the time comes in private…Though you could send her a selfie wearing a dress shirt you know she likes…Or wearing something she’s not expecting…like wearing tight blue jeans with a button undone…”

Sherlock gave John slightly horrified look.

John shrugged. “Next time you are at the morgue, go to Molly’s office…there is a calendar that she bought at a charity thing…She refuses to flip it to the correct month for there is a guy that…sure, looks good I guess and looks a bit like you…He’s holding a kitten while wearing tight jeans and button undone…Mary informed me it’s not the kitten holding that girl’s attention.”

_Oh-kay._

Well, maybe he could do that…Without the kitten, of course.

Instead of telling John this he decided to glare and point at him. “I told you to write this stuff down!”

John looked as if he wanted to hit him before he shook his head before continuing, “Okay, let’s say you do kiss her, hmm, slowly reach down and caress her buttocks…if she doesn’t slap you or pull away then you should just go with it…wherever it should lead you. I wish you the best of luck. Please don’t screw things up for Molly is a dear friend and to be perfectly honest she’s the only reliable babysitter Mary and I have.”

Okay, John clearly has been spending too much time with him. Sherlock looked at him a bit surprised at that thought as well as his friend’s honesty and frankness…Also, tiredness made John a bit snippy and cheeky. That was something to take note of.

Sherlock made a face. “Right, I will just ‘go with it’.” He suddenly yawned before saying in a low pitched tone, “But first I think a nap is in order.”

“What?!” John asked clearly shocked. Though why Sherlock could still shock him after all these years was a mystery.

Sherlock slowly shook his head. “Seriously, John, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“You complete and total wanker.” John spoke this as if the world’s greatest detective didn’t know this fact. So Sherlock simply yawned once more…right in John’s face.

John tried to glare, really he did but to Sherlock’s delight he yawned in return. Completely ruining the glare.

With a small smile, Sherlock closed his eyes. It was only as he listened to his best friend’s breathing change did he allow himself to slumber.

Sherlock was awaken by his phone ringing from his pocket…and his best friend’s head on his shoulder and an arm around him as he snuggled close. If he was a blackmailer he’d take a picture…though he could just take it to torment the hell out of John.

Still a bit dull from a damn fine sleep he instantly noticed Mary resting in a chair holding their little angel…though already he could clearly see the words and an arrow declaring it a demon. From the peaceful smile on Mary’s face, he was quite certain she had already taken a picture of her ‘boys’ and would be blackmailing John with an eternity of doing the dishes.

That a girl, his Mary.

Maybe he’d ask for a copy…

However, any amusement he had abruptly died when he answered his phone to hear that something bad had happened over at Molly’s…

Of course, he hastened out of the flat…perhaps faster than he had ever moved before.

~*~End of part 10~*~

Well, hopefully _that’s_ an interesting cliffhanger! J

Note for bottom of story: Okay, a long ass note…

James Hadfield was a real person in the 1800’s and as far as I know there is no documentary on him though if there was I’d watch it. A few books on true crime that I’ve read lately have mentioned him in certain paragraphs to make a point or explain certain things. One author was certain that the man was clinically depressed and had no intention to _‘assassinate’_ the king of England but knew the attempt would deliver death to him which all authors in the different books all agreed that he longed for. Back then suicide was shameful…it was thought that the family and person clearly had something wrong with them. The person was declared unfit to even be buried in a cemetery and countless times they would be buried at a ‘crossroads’…outside the cemetery…with a stake driven though the heart. There were many cases of families that when found relatives clearly killed by their own hand they would attempt to make it look like murder. Which is why some investigators in the 1700 and 1800’s saw say a sixteen year old girl stabbed twenty times (which was a real case in 1786) the investigators would first declare it to be suicide until the ‘crowner’ the word later become the familiar word ‘coroner’ we use today, would declare it a possible homicide . Today we would look at this and say they were clearly dumbasses but when understanding the times we can see that certain things aren’t always so certain…anyway…James Hadfield was what many declare as one of the first known ‘suicide by cop’…the British government being the cop in question. He honestly believed attempting to kill the king…some writers wonder if he purposely missed, for the king had not been shot, knowing the end result would remain the same…his death and the government would be forced to buy the rope. However the judge looking the case denied Hadfield the death he longed for…the judge stating he was ‘clearly insane’ and did indeed send him off to an insane asylum. Which if one thinks about the asylums of the 1800’s is quite horrifying.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed something from the lovely movie ‘Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon’ some of you perhaps recognized it right away…Yes, this movie had Basil Rathbone playing Sherlock Holmes, anyway in that movie Moriarty strapped him down onto a table and took blood from him…So he could experience what it was like to ‘die by the needle’…It had been Sherlock’s idea so Watson and the others would have enough time to rescue him…As I was watching this movie for the hundredth or more times the idea for this Sherlock and Molly story came about and I was compelled to put it into my story…


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